


Paradise Surrendered

by Let_Words_Wield_The_Sword



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Assassination, Character Death, Character Development, Evil Dumbledore, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fate, Forced Marriage, Freedom, Good Voldemort, Growing Up, Heir, Innocence, Intrigue, Isolation, Let there be OCs!, Love Confessions, Love Triangle, M/M, Marriage Game, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Mystery, Original Character(s), Politics, Rape, Reincarnation, Requests, Reverse Harem, Royalty, Slow Build, Slow Burn, True Love, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-10-25 19:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 53,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Let_Words_Wield_The_Sword/pseuds/Let_Words_Wield_The_Sword
Summary: Hermione is clever, yes. But she’s also a daredevil and somewhat naive. Not your typical plutocrat at all. Having grown up on an isolated island, her values are certainly… different. It at least explains why she dashes off to a “normal” school instead of a world cruise when she’s finally let off her island. Freedom isn’t free though, and now she is suddenly being thrust into the real world and told she must learn the duties of her position as heir to the most powerful muggle alive: Tom Marvolo Prince.Draco has loved Hermione for a decade, but when Tom challenges her to a marriage game in which he is not a candidate, will he be able to change her perception of him from brother to lover? Will he be able to prove his worth by protecting her from everything Tom places in their path? And is he willing to give up everything, even his duty as head of the Malfoy family, for her?Being heir to a corporate throne is all very well, but along the way Hermione will realise that she is involved in a far greater plot, and that she is the key figure in the political intrigue of the oldest nation on Earth...Muggle AU:Ch 1-4: Characterisation and plot set upCh 5 onwards: Let the romance begin!





	1. Necessary Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Various characters may be unexpectedly related. The most obvious example: Tom being Hermione's father. Surnames may also be different to help with this.

Hermione. Simple. Anyone worth knowing knew who she was by the simple nature of her name. Her last - “Prince” - if not her first. “Prince” was a brand on anyone associated with it but it was in itself a deviant. Whist bearing the name of a good family typically condemned anyone to timeless duties - to marry well and to protect the family powerbase - Prince defied such behaviours. Hermione was free from her fate and it seemed to her that freedom  _ was  _ her fate. Hermione really was just “Hermione”. Plain and simple. She could never have been simply “Prince”. If pushed, and that was to say pushed very hard, she might admit to being “Hermione Prince”. If you were lucky. But to the few who knew her and not simply knew  _ of  _ her - she was Hermione. And she was more than satisfied with that.

Her father had placed her where she had stayed for over a decade. In peace and harmony. In isolation. Well, nigh on. She had maids like Minnie and whilst her rich peers were always demanding some gadget or other, Hermione avoided the curse of privilege and wanted nothing. Nothing at all. Anything she needed, she was given or she got herself. She was a wild spirit and believed her peers to be everyone in the world - not just the select few balancing precariously at the top. Naive, she knew, for her world was very small and it was entirely possible that she was not strong enough to protect this view should she ever be let off her island and have it challenged. Draco was always warning her about that and she supposed she should listen to him. It was almost a pity that she couldn’t. She was Hermione after all. Plain Hermione who toed the line of wilderness and wisdom in her belief of free spirits and the spirited free.

Hermione was a simple girl, living as best one could on an island. Perfectly content. But truth be told, Hermione was  _ not  _ a simple girl. Not at all. She was about to enter her teens and her freedom was almost up. Her fate could only be suppressed for so long. Hermione was to begin the trials of adulthood in accordance with island tradition, but said island would not be the stage for her transition into responsibility. No. The vast silver claws of human construction called for her and seethed vibrantly under the hot Sun of New York, panting out their desire for her to be in their grasp once more. Hermione had been given her name at birth. But “Prince” had lingered about her legacy long before even that. She could not erase it no matter how hard she tried. Hermione may well have been a free spirit, but Hermione Prince was the only daughter and heir of the largest business empire on Earth and it was time for her to step up to her fate. She had a lot left to learn before she could take the reigns, but the emperor himself had everything in line to make her ready. Tom Marvolo Prince stood tall and proud at the peak of the empire which he had raised in a single generation. He was a miracle-worker and he was about to bring the Prince name in line with all those other supposedly “good” families and he would ensure that Hermione was indeed ready to marry well and protect the family power base. Her time was up.

 

X-X-X

 

**Twelve years ago:**

 

The job was supposed to have been easy. Kill the kid and run.

He hardly had a say in which jobs were slipped into the stack of ‘accept’s and which were thrust out in the pile of ‘decline’s. All he ever knew was what he personally had to do.

Stay tight against the wall: knees bent, muscles loose, ready for action.

Don’t move until you’re called in; use the code to check your line hasn’t been hacked before moving.

Trust no one; trust nothing; trust only in yourself - and even then, having doubts is healthier than having none.

“Kill the kid and run” was translated into his role simply and efficiently on the same day that the rubber stamp pressed into the margin of the printed contract. A useless formality among the lawless.

Protect our assassins, kill any enemy snipers.

He knew the money didn’t pay so well for games of cat and mouse. Snipers could land a hit on his charge or a hit on him. After so long in the business, he no longer knew which was worse. Life had become synonymous with money, after all.

Kill the kid and run.

The original order obviously came from some shadowy brow deep within the bowels of an empire.

He’d long lost the heart to care that the target was a kid, but his daily rigour and calculative apathy had grown to recognise that “run” was what was wrong in the equation.

“Run” wasn’t a word he had heard in a long time. Not since bullies had towered over playground plebs in an unavoidable wave of ferocity. He had ridden the crest of it on the winning side and avoided the damage, learning as he went. “Run” was a useless command of fading hope and a wish for mercy in surrender. “Run” was when you tried to escape the unavoidable. “Run” wasn’t something he had wanted to hear even again.

But he did.

“RUN!”

No time to check where the order came from, the blasts of explosions clouded his vision.  _ Their  _ explosives,  _ their  _ terrified men,  _ their  _ plan torn to shreds. Why was it “run”? Everything had been under control. The kid and it’s mother. At home alone.

The targets were hardly important, a surprise they were even targets at all. Probably long lost claimants to some empire of worth. But in that moment, the very ordinary house was but ruins in a sea of fire. It was no empire as yet. There should have been no moat of bodyguards, no catapults of bullets, no drawbridges of dynamite. So why had “kill the kid” failed? Why were  _ they  _ the ones suffering losses?

There should have been two shots on the targets. One for the kid and one for the bitch. He had his own role. His own shots. “Kill any snipers.” Quickly, efficiently and silently. “Protect our assassins.” Once part one was complete, part two was guaranteed. But he had been waiting for those two shots. Two shots. Why had it been “run”?

Blood sprayed over the walls and over the hideous grimaces the mirror caught of his face and the detestable intimacy of organs curled around his palm as he clambered past the fallen men, past “our assassins”.

There should have been two shots. The bitch and the kid. Why had he heard “run”? And why on Earth had there only been one?

 

X-X-X

 

Tom liked to think that he was a generally rational person. He thought with his head and felt with his heart and rarely did he let the two interfere with one another. Especially when it came to work. Of course, he had been a young man once and, like all young men, he had also spent a number of years both thinking and feeling with consideration to another part of his body entirely. In fact, there were a number of people still alive who had the pleasure of reminding him quite regularly that his “youth” had stretched beyond what was reasonable for even the most devilish of scoundrels.

But then there had been Andie. When she came into his life, all thoughts abandoned him. And for those first few months in her company he honestly found himself lost in a world he had never known before. The sensual instinct of his youth emerged to haunt his adulthood and his refined mind began to jam up in spluttering rebukes to her no-nonsense attitude. In essence, he began to discover what his peers had known for years: that love was the most beautiful thing and that you had never truly lived until your heart had poured and pounded in turns for the smooth affections which only honest romance could bring.

He was thankful that the woman he had fallen in love with was the type of woman she was. One who could keep him in line. She dug clawed fingers into his mind when it tried to fly away and stuffed words back into his mouth when he lost them. Other times, she’d get under his skin and know exactly what was bothering him and cajole him into capsizing out what he’d glued to the tip of his tongue for propriety’s sake. She was the one who was always there to keep him on track and stay focused on the work which had become his duty.

But then she had gone. She had gone and he had felt even more lost than when he had experienced the first taste of addiction to her bluster. Dead. She had been shot from behind whilst protecting the little spark of life they had brought into the world. And then the house had gone up in flames.

He had attended her funeral and all the while he had turned over the ‘what if’s and ‘what now’s and the utter lack of time, but, perhaps more than anything else, his greatest regret was the fact he could barely remember any of it. The processions, the speeches and a tiny tugging hand had all felt alien to him and even after so long the thoughts still drifted around his head unfettered and unchained.

After that day of gruesome black, he would have buried his heart and it would have been lost in the sands of tragedy if not for the beautiful light which had held him through the long nights which followed. A light which didn’t judge his tears no matter how long they soaked on for. A child from any background had the undeniable property of truth and, on that day, Tom realised that if his heart was to go on, it was to go on in her - his daughter. She was, after all, his truth. And to him there was no greater truth than love.

Trauma had ripped from him so much but he refused to allow it further. It was to be enough to drive him behind the walls of calculation and to become a cold machine of a rationality but Tom had tasted love and he had been certain that he would protect the last hope he had of keeping it. No matter what the cost. Tragedy would push them no further. But in order to ensure that,  _ he  _ would have to be the one to drive them apart.

It was later that he learned of his fate. A fate beyond any that his empire could ever summon. A fate which would surely become hers. Her failed assassination had been the least of his worries over the past decade and he was sure that it would be at least another ten years before that even  _ began  _ to change.

 

X-X-X

 

“Mr. Prince, sir. Could I- Oh.” The dark-haired secretary walked in through the polished tan of the door and glanced around. “Sorry, I thought you had company. I could have sworn I heard you talking.” The natural conclusion was reached that Tom had been indulging in the sound of his own voice again but neither acknowledged it. Tom always thought it was an awful habit although his secretary could never understand why.

Tom turned around, his firm torso leaning back against the glass to which he had been whimsically murmuring only moments before.

“And  _ I  _ thought we had an impostor in our midst. It’s not like you to be so formal when we’re alone, after all. So I suppose that makes both of us a little foolish.” The slicked strands which had fallen to hang heavily over Tom’s nose lifted with the man’s slight huff of air. “What can I do for you, Anthony?”

The long-serving assistant approached gradually and prefaced his enquiry with, “You know I don’t like to intervene and I hope you know that my comments are never a question of your judgement,” the slight slap of a leather album on his boss’ desk dampened its own echo, “But I do feel obliged to ask: are you  _ sure  _ , Tom? It’s been so very long.”

A measured stride bridged the distance between the two men. Empire burgundy swirled around the crystal rim seated in the lax embrace of the corporate emperor’s hand.

“How long have you known me for, Tony?”

“What most people would say was too long.” Tom smiled with humour.

“Then you’ll know how impossible it was for me to say yes when I sent her away.” Anthony nodded. Tom took a deep, slightly inebriated breath and uttered, “And whilst a great many things will face her - many troubles and dangers and threats beyond even my comprehension, I cannot begin to describe how selfishly happy I am to say yes this time. To have her back.”

“Do you think she can handle it?”

“If the fate that awaits her is heavy because she’s my daughter, then I know that, no matter what, she’ll be able to handle it - because she’s so very much like Andie.” His eyes seemed to cloud a little further, memories drawing him inwards.

“When should I inform the young man who’s been with her about the change of plan?”

Tom smiled with enjoyment and tilted his head to his dear friend. “They’re getting picked up by plan, correct?” Anthony nodded. “Then not until the plane lands in front of them. Let it be a surprise for them both - but mainly for her. She’s been waiting so long, you’re right, and events are finally coming to a head. I have reached the greatest position I could in the time I had and I’ve laid down as many tracks as possible to guide her on her way. Now all that’s left is for her to start following the path she must take. I gave her as much time to be free as I could but now she will have to learn that she must embrace her fate, and that with her fate will come her future freedom.”

A smile. “Of course, Tom, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure every author will tell you, feedback is our life blood. So I would very much appreciate kudos and comments. :)


	2. Innocence

“Hermione?” Her eyes remained hidden.

“Hermione.” Her mouth trembled a little as she grasped for renewed control of her features. The two parts sealed and her eyes fluttered open. The sleep in them making her vision bleary and her reminiscing of paradise slipping her into brief confusion. She turned her head to the sight of flaming curls. Ron had let his hair grow out again. It was pretty, but even  _ she  _ realised it was impractical for his job.

“Were you having a nice dream?” Her throat swallowed into operation with a sound of agreement. “You looked like you were really enjoying it.” He smiled gently. It suited his features. It was a rare occasion when he wasn’t using the early hour as an excuse to be melodramatic and she appreciated his efforts after the tumultuous week they had had.

“Yes,” she murmured. “It was a lovely dream.” A soft smile crossed her face and posed the threat of pulling her back into sleep’s happy hold, seducing her with the car’s humming engine, but as she turned to her window her eyes widened a fraction, pushing the temptation back.

“Ron, is that the school I’m going to be attending?” The breeze of her slight accent couldn't hide her curiosity.

“Yes,” he replied politely. “But Hermione, you really will stand out. So please try your best to keep a low profile.” His words felt a little out of place and a touch stiff but her smile didn’t shift and her head only rolled slightly closer to glass. Her belt cut in a little but that would her keep her awake. The plane journey had been long, and the car journey seemed even longer. But she had first impressions to make. She would need to be aware and awake.

Her lips shuffled into a moue as she glanced back at Ron. He was getting good at controlling himself. Formal and professional. Not perfect - no, certainly not. His character wouldn’t be quashed that easily. He was unlikely to have turned into Draco overnight, but over the past year he had indeed been slowly sinking deeper into his role and his naturally expressive personality was coming to the forefront less frequently - or at least, when he remembered to hide it.

The pact to behave which they had made on the plane journey over would challenge his pride enough to hold on to his current attitude for at least a few days. It’d be a good way for him to develop himself... and a way for her to get away with more. She didn’t plan to keep her end for terribly long, after all. If he couldn’t shout for her to stop, getting the attention and aid of the busy strangers around them, she’d have a few seconds head start whenever he tried to drag her somewhere important. Messing with Ron was always fun and he’d become like a brother to her recently. She enjoyed the time the two of them spent together, even if they were just waiting for something exciting to happen on the lonely island. It seemed as though that was all she had been doing lately. Waiting.

The car took a turn off the main road and began to weave closer into the tighter hub of the suburbs - more pleasant and less dangerous. This was what she had been promised. She had her freedom for another half a year in this foreign land of wonders and education and she was going to make the most of it.

A lampost whizzed by. Draco would have probably teased her about it, saying that she would have marched straight into it if he'd let her walk. Of course he’d have been teasing her about her habit to walk with her nose glued to the folds of a book, but lately she’d been having another problem. She had been thinking about the magical time she had shared with him on the island when he’d been able to visit. Those times seemed to be both near and far away, but she knew that in reality it had been a year. A whole year or only a year. She couldn't view it from the second angle. It had been a whole year since they had last shared the lazy days of light on that beach, and the cut-throat life he had been living far longer than she had was now ready to take her back. She didn't know what fate had in store for her, but she knew that these six months would be new and fun and spontaneous and that Draco would be able to visit her more easily. She hoped that he would spend every day by her side but she knew that he had other duties and she had other things to do too.

He was an incredible man and she was proud to have forged a bond with him. She knew that he, as the head of the Malfoy Group, mostly obeyed her father's almighty wishes in the business world, but what the two of them shared was undeniably their own and Hermione knew that in him she had a brother with greater love for her, and she for him, and any blood could ever bring about.

Six months. Hermione had been promised freedom for six months.

 

X-X-X

 

“We have a new student with us today.”

The pleasant rub of chalk across a blackboard pressed the earlier hum of happiness further into Hermione’s bones. Her defined face bore an infectious smile as the traditional layout of the English school sunk into the homely honesty with which she hoped to go forth.

_ Hermione Granger _

Stark white against the faded black stood her name, the cursive making the false surname she had never held pretty and adoptable in her eyes. It was a name she would gladly use. In her own mind she was simply “Hermione”, after all. What did a change to the following addition matter, anyway?

Hermione’s head tilted to return its gaze to the small class of twenty seated before her. They were close together in tables which ran across the room, unusual given her expectation of individual desks. It would make it easier to make friends though. Good. That was her aim, after all. For all it was a small room, the atmosphere was pleasant and not at all cramped. When she heard “please make her feel welcome,” she took a slight bow as she had when greeting the priest which had presided over her childhood. A sign of respect, and yet another quirk being added to the mental list of strange things about the beautiful transfer student.

“Hermione has been travelling around the world for some time now because of her father’s business so she may well be unfamiliar with some of the customs and phrases we use in this country. I hope you’ll all support her in settling in.” Mr Matthews was a kind man with a slight balding patch to the left of his crown, but Hermione didn’t feel she needed his reassurance as a mixture of questioning glances considered her whilst she still stood proudly at the front of the room, nigh on taking her new teacher’s place as he was pulled through the door by another suited man, needing his help with some unruly brawl. She smiled pleasantly, tugging her chin towards an empty seat she had spotted.

“Do you mind if I sit over there?” Her voice held it’s lilt steadily. It was a powerful voice in the way it could gently coax anyone to anything. A few boys sniggered nervously whilst most of the students just followed her with their eyes as she approached the uncluttered expanse of wood. Having received no denial, Hermione had proceeded to her spot near the window. Her turned back prevented her from seeing the gathering buzz among her peers. Her dreams and memories had settled over her once more now that her mild anxiety had been suppressed and her gaze began to drift in time with the falling blossom.

“Silver eyes! I’m not kidding you. Wait until she turns around an’ you’ll see.”

“Did you see her smile? Oh my goodness, it was adorable!”

“She’s a natural beauty!”

“Pah! No way is she natural! Nobody could have skin like that. It’s too flawless.”

“And the colour of it…”

“S’almost like she’s oriental but she doesn’t look Asian.”

“Maybe she’s from the Middle East somewhere?”

“Don’t they repress all their women there though? She moved like a quee-!”

“Shut up, Pucey! Don’t comment on cultures you know nothing about.”

The spotty faces of a couple of dozen school girls and boys began debating the increasingly long list of things they needed to ask about, gradually getting louder and louder until their hissing could no longer constitute whispering, and if Hermione hadn’t been day-dreaming, there would have been no chance at all for their discussions to have gone unnoticed.

Hermione’s thoughts were abruptly cut off by the firm rattle of the door as it was wedged back to being closed. Mr Matthews had returned. Her peers had been in the school long enough to know to shut up and focus. Hermione didn’t need to have been there very long to know the same. She might not have been to school before, but by God was she eager to learn!

 

X-X-X

 

The bell conveyed it’s melody. Another misconception. She had thought her timetable would be dictated by a mechanical copy of the shrill cry of Gwaku birds which had woken her every morning for the past decade. Chatter was instantly afoot. “Go talk to her already,” in it’s infinite variations.

In the buzz which felt faintly alien, Hermione grasped for her lunch, thinking to have a little of it now - perhaps food would settle her returning unease. Or a book. She pulled a slim volume out too. She didn’t feel nervous about making friends, nor about the lessons themselves. This had been her wish after all. But she couldn’t shake the feeling nor unclench her stomach. She felt a little lost by the prospect of her future. She had six months here, and then what? Why had she been let off the island? It seemed a funny time - now. But if she only had six months... Perhaps this would be her only freedom in life. Freedom from her fate and from the island too. She knew that she had to grasp what she had with both hands, and so, after a sentimental pause, she knew that she would.

“Er, s’cuse me?” A girl’s voice caught her just at the start of her conviction and so her smile was already stretching across her face when she turned to look at her. No need to plaster it on at all. The girl looked as though she felt the same nerves Hermione had had only seconds before. The flaming hair making the mild panic conveyed in her eyes somehow both startling and friendly. Hermione was intrigued.

“Uh, hey Hermione. I’m Ginny.” The girl seemed genuine, if a touch awkward.

“Hullo.” The serene response paired with her bright eyes didn’t seem to help so Hermione added, “I’d say my name’s Hermione Granger but you already know that.” They both smiled for the benefit of the humour. Hermione didn’t know much about British culture as the students had already seen by her decision to bow rather than wave or even stay silent when she was introduced so Hermione decided to employ what she  _ did  _ know instead. Between the intuitive customs of her island’s people and the mass of books which formed her greatest entertainment she knew rather a lot. “Grab a chair and sit down if you’d like. You learn more about people when you both feel at ease and I’d like to be friends.” She hoped that didn’t seem to pushy. Instead it appeared to invigorate the rest of the class who had hushed once Ginny had steeled her resolve and spoken first. They thought Hermione’s honesty was bold and refreshing. And maybe some more cunning girls appreciated her apparent ploy for connections. Be friends? It was an attractive prospect to the students no matter their perspective. Hermione was attractive too.

Ginny’s blush stretched up her cheeks. She had gathered her courage to speak with the new girl and it had gone better than planned. She didn’t seem to be stuck up or bitchy at all. She’d even offered her her break-time company. Why was she blushing then? Was it relief? Ginny pulled up a chair and faced Hermione. If Hermione had had an honest air about her before, looking into the pools of silver only secured this belief further. Ginny was mesmerised and utterly silent. After a few moments she realised that she had approached without knowing what to say. She hadn’t planned past the rebuke of the girl who swanned in with all the dignity of a royal. The ease she felt was melting away again and was being replaced by the nervousness which had until today been alien to her. It made the whole experience all the more surreal. What was this stunning and obviously very rich girl doing in a remote school like theirs?

Hermione’s smile gave way to a furrow of concern. “Why are you looking away? Did I make a bad impression?” Honest. Unlike Ginny, she wasn’t condemned by the social pressure to clam up when fearful of being wrong. When Ginny would admit this to her many years later, Hermione would, of course, correct her assumptions for in that moment Hermione was worrying greatly and wondering why she had never bothered to read a book about the correct way to handle social interactions.

“H-huh? Oh! N-no! Absolutely not! Far from it-” The vehement denials reassured Hermione. Ginny seemed to be a nice girl. She thought she would be a good friend indeed. Said good friend swiftly keeled over though as the restrained weight of curious students burst forth to envelop her and gather around their shared table, girls sneaking up and crouching to the all important eye-level, boys leering from afar.

“That’s a relief then.” Hermione’s smile locked directly onto Ginny, not paying attention to the others despite their brusque arrival. Ginny pushed herself up from her squashed reaction and smiled back, reassured and starting to feel that her efforts had been worth it, even if it meant everyone else could now cash in on her negligible bravery.

“Hey! What you talkin’ about then? Let us in on it, won’t you?”

“Is it your first time in England?”

“D’you like it here? We already know the weather’s not much if that’s your complaint.”

_ They hadn’t really been talking about much,  _ realised Hermione.  _ They already knew that though,  _ grouched Ginny.

“Well if I had to choose something…” Hermione trailed off, “I’d say it’s the accents. Everyone speaks so differently. I’d heard that there were regional differences but nothing quite like this. We landed in London and every place we drove through to get here sounded completely different. I liked that though. It made the trip shorter and showed how rich the culture here is. I can’t wait to learn more about it.”

They hadn’t been expecting that, Ginny gathered. Maybe they’d wanted Hermione to be mean so that they could turn and tear her apart. They’d certainly been goading her into it. Ginny gave a sidelong glance at the three girls next to her. The Patil twins weren’t all that bad. In fact, they looked genuinely curious about Hermione. But they always followed Romilda, and if Romilda wasn’t happy, they weren’t either.

“Nice to hear it’s a positive for you! I struggled to understand my own sister for years when she moved over here. It was horrifying!” Giggled Padma, the older twin.

“Shhh!” Hissed her sister. Apparently the local accent hadn’t mixed well with her childhood Indian. When, a couple of weeks later, Parvati finally gave in and played Hermione a recording of her from years ago, the transferee couldn’t help herself and burst into laughter. By that point though, Parvati found that she really didn’t mind.

“You have your own accent, don’t you?” Romilda murmured it out and Ginny could taste the trap.

“Well sh-” Ginny was already at her defence. Unnecessary defense it came to be though.

“Of course I do. I’m American but I grew up with the natives on my island. Nobody I know has an American accent though, not even Dad. We all sound a little different from each other but that just makes our conversations a little brighter. And if we can be a family even with the distance and our differences, I know there’s no reason not to think the same about the people here - about you.” She eyed Romilda firmly, but also seemed to make eye contact with everyone in the room. Whilst Hermione’s vowels wavered and her Rs quivered between the bookends of other words, her gaze met Romilda’s unflinchingly, and without a shred of calculation. It wasn’t a cold glance to show she knew what was being played but neither was it a look of innocence. Ginny was in awe at how one could look so direct. Paralysing, penetrating, personal.

So far Hermione had been able to implant and defend her perspective on the world.  _ Would it last though?  _ She kept asking herself.

“Island? You mean Hawaii?” Asked Parvati, the focus shifting back to safer waters.

“Oh no. Dad’s island.”

There was a murmur, then a mutter and then puzzled excitement.

“‘Dad’s island’!? Does he really have an island? You’re pulling my leg, you are!” Piped a boy from the back.

“I’d never lie.” Hermione denied, "It’s a lovely place but I barely left it for years. That’s why I’m so happy to be here.”

“So he could afford an island but he ran out of cash to ferry his little princess around. I thought Matty said you’d travelled a lot, hmm?” The piqued accusation couldn’t be hidden this time.

“I have. Just not for very long. Neither Dad nor I wanted Mum’s sacrifice to be in vain so I didn’t mind staying put. I was actually surprised when he said I could leave and do what I wanted for a while.”

This seemed to confuse them more. Even Ginny had lost the thread of her thoughts and the thrill of only background noise cajoled her into asking tentatively, “Sacrifice? That seems a little... extreme a word. What did she do?”

An extended pause.

“They murdered her.” The silence this time remained unbroken. Romilda even began to look ashamed of herself. She wasn’t a bad person by nature - just by habit, after all. Ginny looked aghast and various faces which were beginning to become familiar were also looking at her in shock. Was she actually some tragic heroine? The last woman standing after some mafia war?

Hermione eventually continued softly whilst turning to look out of the window. She had no tears to cry but she thought that the pink of the blossom soothed her heart and made her more willing to be honest with them.

“Yes. They tried to kidnap me for a ransom. They didn’t manage it.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t remember Mum but I love her even so. How could I not? I believe that everyone is capable of good and for those that one loves, one is able to do  _ great  _ things too.”

Romilda shuffled for another chair and pulled it in. She hadn’t crouched like the twins and now felt humbled. “Sorry for bringing that up.”

All was quiet save the light buzz of other students in the corridors. Which wasn’t what Hermione wanted at all.

She reached out to grasp the hand of her new companion and looked her in the eye and said gently, “It’s alright, I don’t mind and you didn’t know.” A solemn nod was Romilda’s response.

Hermione sucked in a breath and asked, “Anyway! What’s it like here? My island was my island but I’m here now and I’d like to enjoy it. Is there anything fun to do?”

And so gradually the conversation picked up again and everyone was laughing by the time the bell jingled, signalling the end of break. Hermione turned to face the board, her smile undisturbed, having multiplied to many a face.

 

X-X-X

 

It was rare for Draco to meet with Tom in the flesh. The man had made it clear what Draco’s role was to be. Hermione’s protector through whatever means that took. Unquestioningly so. And Draco had always abided by that. Tom had never forced him to choose between the Malfoy name of which he was so proud and for which he was responsible and the fairy-like bookworm who had made herself a place in his heart.

When Draco entered Tom’s office, he wasn’t sure what he expected to find. The rarity of the event puzzled him enough but Anthony’s insistence that “we can’t wait six months” only served to confused him more. Draco coughed purposefully with his knuckles rapping against the open door. “Tom?”

The steady weight of a middle-aged plutocrat shifted the morning shadows as the two businessmen turned to face him. Tom smiled whilst Anthony drew his features back into their neutral politeness, toning down the vibrant volume of the challenge few could pose to the mighty emperor.

“Ah, Draco. It’d been awhile, has it not?”

“Yes…” Draco let it hang a little as he walked into the room, complying with Tom’s gestures to have a seat. “It’s rare for you to want to meet. In New York, especially.”

There was some humming and harring which followed as idle chatter was made. Anthony had long since departed and gradually Tom’s eyes acquired the peculiar tone for which they were famous, silver striking out as Draco was caught in his gaze. The blond found himself unable to look away and Tom gave the slightest smirk. Not mocking but still in humour.

“Draco. Know that if I could tell you, I would, for there are few men I trust like I do you. I am, however, about to ask for a great thing from you, because whilst you have obliged me in my requests with loyalty for so long, there is about to be a change of plan.”

Tom took deep breath whilst the younger man gulped, loud and ringing in his own ears. He didn’t know if he liked the sound of that.

 

X-X-X

 

A week later, Hermione was appearing out of Mr Matthews’ office. “See how she was getting on” was the reason bandied around. Hermione supposed that was fair. She thought she was getting on quite well actually and told him so. Given she had had no formal education she had been quite surprised to find that she had already absorbed everything she needed to know from the huge variety of books she had read and the sensation of simply  _ knowing  _ felt incredible.

Friends were another thing which often worried tranferees. She had told Mr Matthews  _ he  _ didn’t need to worry though (because it seemed he was the more concerned out of the two of them) - after all, within the first few hours she had already worked her way into the affection of her class and she enjoyed sharing her stories in exchange for theirs. More knowledge. She was even getting some attention from other forms. Forms not classes. She had to try and remember that.

She swam into her form room, slipping the door shut behind her.

“Heya, ‘Mione.” A warm face opened up to her from behind a table. Everyone seemed nice, that hadn’t changed one bit. Of course Hermione couldn’t deny that the screaming fallout she heard in the corridors seemed more like the aftereffects of a bomb than an argument, but in her cla-form at least, it seemed as though the issues were just bad days - not bad people.

Ginny knew that bad people didn’t exist. She wasn’t stupid. But bitches and bastards did. They were rife in a place like this so she found herself at a loss as to where they had all gone. A week ago if she so much as glanced at someone wrong they’d be at her neck. She always felt like she was fighting against something or someone, maybe that’s why she didn’t feel intimidated when she first saw Hermione.  _ Best get the painful push over and done with. Make sure she knows I won’t back down  _ \- or something similar, at least.

Ginny had turned out to be Hermione’s best friend. Maybe because of the first day and it seemed natural that the one who had approached her first should be the person she found herself closest to, or maybe because they were actually quite compatible.

Hermione turned and smiled at the boy behind the table’s width. “Morning, Adrian.”

Ginny knew he was harmless but sometimes he needed a little push in the right direction.

“Hey Pucey, didn’t your mother teach you to look a girl in the eye when you spoke to her?” The flaming hair followed her words and his face zipped around to the ginger menace, a grin tugging at her teeth.

“Oi! I didn-” It looked as though he might start to stutter.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione’s question directed them both to her, and a few others too. Straight to the point.

“Oh it’s nothin’, ‘Mione,” giggled the orange-top, “Just Pucey here was eyeing up your-”

“Shuttup, Gin!” Pucey was going red in the face. Hermione’s curious tilt of her head was making him feel even more embarrassed than the laughter of the boys sitting either side of him, her unassuming gaze catching him under his ribs more deftly than the elbows of Dean and Seamus.

“If he was looking at me that’s all that matters. If you look away it means you don’t respect someone or it means you respect them too much. It doesn’t matter who you are, you should always try to meet in the middle.”

The way she said it made it seem true and whilst it might have sounded like a lecture, her friends never saw it that way. Hermione never lorded her apparent wisdom over them and it seemed quite simply like a reveal of a truth they had always known but never paid attention to. That and her innocent misunderstandings endeared her to them and so by the end of the first week it was no surprise that all the boys had new crushes and the “popular” girls seemed to have been forgotten.

So far, at least, a bitch fight hadn’t broken out and it didn’t even seem like there was a simmering tension to which all the girls would have been privy but which all the boys would have ignored. Perhaps the girls had crushes on Hermione too. Her stories seemed to revolve around princes and paradise but never around the snobbery which, until now, the beauty queens had staunchly claimed they deserved. They were finding they liked the new girl’s version more anyway though.

Hermione moved on from the brief conversation unaffected and still smiling. Perhaps her untouchability was also something which enticed them. Ginny slid off her perch on a table near the door and followed Hermione over, winking at the troublesome trio. Pucey seemed to be mumbling something whilst the other two teased him, but she could see his slight grin and wondered how a girl saying good morning to you and essentially giving voice to a philosophical opinion could make your day. She didn’t wonder about it long though for soon Hermione had turned round and given her a quick come hither flick of her wrist, drawing Ginny towards her, scraping a chair along the lino floor and plopping down across from the exotic girl.

Hermione giggled with an air of morning joy which coffee had failed to bring the redhead in her own dawn-time routine. At least most of her brothers had flown the nest now. It had been utter Hell growing up with so many of them. She sometimes felt annoyed that her mum insisted on leaving their old rooms as they were in case they wanted to come back, rather than letting the children left in the abode expand outwards. Something about it not being fair.

Ginny tripped a little over the strap of someone’s bag. The tan leather exhaling good taste and subtle wealth in a way which did nothing to disguise its owner. The redhead gave it no mind where she might have otherwise remarked that it was a pretty satchel with all its clean lines.

Ginny sighed. She supposed she’d got the better end of the deal though. She was the only girl in the house (save her dear mother, of course) and so had one of the larger rooms. Bill and Charlie had had individual rooms because they were the first-borns and so her parents quite simply hadn’t foreseen the problems which lay ahead for them and then didn’t have the heart to displace two young boys so attached to their own little dens of enthusiasm. Percy had gone to boarding school so the fact another of her sometimes twatish brothers had enjoyed an essentially single room also didn’t count either.

The twins demonstrated her point better though. Those two would slither between each other’s ears if they could, so it was no surprise that they shared their living space and spent as much of their life as possible in it. At least they didn’t mind. Colin and Dennis too. They weren’t technically her brothers but they had been living with her family for as long as she could remember and she had concluded very early on that technicalities didn’t matter so long as you had love.

For some years they were silent as mice because they “didn’t want to disturb”. It was a preposterous statement and the adult concern from two boys of only four and five brought out familial sympathy for them all the more. Now they were becoming little menaces and following in the footsteps of the dastardly twins a little too much for their own good. So much so that if Ginny was having a bad day she might even think it had been better when they had been silent. But she never voiced it. She never voiced it and she never meant it and she always felt bad afterwards.

“You alright Ginny? You look a little pale.” Concern flooded the ginger back to reality and she blinked at the silver eyes of endless curiosity.

“Oh. Oh no, I’m alright. Just thinking is all. You know how it is on a Monday - even when you’ve been out of bed for hours you still feel like you ought to slip right back in!”

Bemusement ruffled the girl’s smile. “What’s so important about Mondays? And Fridays too. Last week everyone seemed to be overjoyed for the fifth day. I thought you celebrated the seventh in this country. The Bible keeps talking about how it’s the day of rest...” Hermione trailed off. She had already given Ginny an earful about the importance of any religious text and Ginny’s grimace by the end of it had been indication enough that said speech needed no encore.

“Er, well-” It had just seemed natural to Ginny that tiredness sought her at the beginning of the working week and freedom hounded her by the end of it. Hermione didn’t seem to get tired though. Or overly excited for that matter. Ginny couldn’t imagine the girl’s overly-long bob spinning around a house party, the ethereal giggles being squandered in the booming music of their youth. No, Hermione seemed to be the sort that would rather attend a lecture of some kind. Any kind. She had a passion for learning and Ginny found it quaint that the foreigner seemed to have so little understanding of the basics and yet her hundred-foot forests and thousand-tomb libraries had taught her algebra and calculus in a most frightening way so that Mr Matthews was left amazed and the others were left in the dust. How on Earth Hermione’s tales of lazing the days away married up with her intelligence was mystical.

A cough from her own throat, a yawn from behind her, the slosh of Mr Matthews’ coffee as he strolled painfully towards his desk, setting up before the bell.

“Er well…” And so the outspoken girl explained the notion of what it was like to be everyone else and be so _ tired  _ all the damn time, which earned her a vibrant chuckle, and that actually they were so very lazy in England that both the sixth and seventh day meant everyone was out of commission. Save for parties of course. Had the bell not gone, Ginny would have had more time to expand of the fact that  _ no, that’s a birthday party, Hermione, and only for when you’re little. The parties we have have a lot more alcohol and fuc-.  _  She suddenly turned away from Hermione’s curiosity.  _ Saved by the bell  _ , she thought, as she acted under its excuse.

She faced the front and almost crossed herself, feeling unsure whether or not it was her place to taint what might well have been a person who still knew nothing about sex. Hermione looked gorgeous and always talked about love in it’s many forms, but she hadn’t a single pimple riding around her face and puberty looked like it hadn’t fully taken hold of her, so perhaps, just perhaps, sex hadn’t been a part of the stunning island education, and Ginny didn’t want to be the one to bring up the topic - just in case. She was hardly the right person to give a talk about the birds and the bees. It didn’t stop her interest though, in fact she felt she might just be learning what it felt like to have endless pools of curious silver eyes and be called Hermione Granger.

 

X-X-X

 

“We’ve been trying to get the damn kid for years now! Why on Earth the crazy fool thinks we’ll be able to nab it now - I have no idea!”

“He said that they were planning to move her…”

“Prince has always been a whole chess game ahead of us. I bet he’s already moved her. Sirius is a bloody fool, though. What purpose does revenge have in our society? It’s not like we’re some sort of fucking mafia family. We’re friends of his at best. But those pathetic swines that died that day had no relation to Sirius beyond work. It’s not like he mourns their deaths. I just don’t understand why the idiot insists that we try and go after the kid every  _ fucking  _ year when we  _ know  _ the result will be the same!”

A bottle smashed noisily against the makeshift fireplace. Being stuck in Brazil with bottles and bottles of scotch and being told that their next journey would be to a place more deadly and mysterious than the Bermuda Triangle hardly settled the nerves.

Peter started to back away as the man who had had the function of friend too long to be able to distance himself. Said man began to weeping frustration: “Going after them will be your demise, Sirius.”

Peter murmured soothingly from the safety of the door but the shaggy head had lolled forwards and alcohol had dulled the sad man’s hearing. He was already lost to the world the same way that Sirius was surely going to be lost to him.

 

X-X-X

 

Break time again. This time for lunch. The dreamy Indians and the Georgian girl crowded around Hermione’s table. Ginny had asked to move next to Hermione so no longer needed to shuffle over. Matty had been in shock that she’d actually bothered asking. Perhaps he felt that God had descended on the group and enforced an invisible order on them all. He knew they weren’t bad kids but the school’s lacking strictness had let them run riot a little too often for him to have any certainty in their good behaviour. Ginny hoped he recognised who he had to thank for the change.

“-you’re really pretty though. I’m so jealous.”

“How is your skin so clear? Or were you joking and you’re secretly so amazing with make-up that we can’t notice it on you? Even when we peer in close.” Padma edged forwards to make her point.

Hermione leaned towards to the twins and pulled their index fingers up to her cheeks. It felt intimate to Ginny, even as an outsider, but the girls felt at ease and were lulled into rubbing their dark pads softly, and then firmer, proving when their plush fingers drew away that there was nothing covering up Hermione’s true self.

“I suppose it was just the Sun. You couldn’t really escape it, after all. Maybe I’ll start to get them whilst I’m here though. Who knows…”

A slight huff. “I bet you had all the boys falling for you.” Romilda seemed calm and lacked her usual intent.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, like right now.” Supplied Parvati unhelpfully.

Hermione’s open-mouthed pause made Romilda change tracks.

“Uh, did you have a crush on anyone then? Maybe there was actually someone  _ you  _ liked back home.”

“Maybe they didn’t like her back and she was denied!” Ginny stuck her tongue out following her remark. Playing devil’s advocate had always been her job and she saw no reason not to do it now. The dramatics brought about a pout from the twins as though she had ruined their fun whilst Romilda kept waiting for Hermione’s answer dispassionately. The tamed lioness had a different air about her now, but Ginny wondered how long her riotous self would stay pinned in place and whether the bounce back would be as exacerbated as when Dean had made the mistake of pulling on her curls - both in regards to the fizz bomb static on her head and the explosion of shrieking the prank had garnered.

“Crush? Do you mean an enemy?”

“No! No no no! Not at al-” Ginny tried to correct her friend.

“I liked everyone on the island. I like everyone here. I like you and you and you and you.” She turned to the four around her individually. She did like them all.

“Nooo, like as in fancy. Like as in love.” Ginny drew out her point, showing off that she knew how to make things clear for the girl of the hour. How on Earth she’d started to be proud about being someone’s friend was as yet unknown.

Dawning emerged on Hermione’s face. The twins noticed it and hushed. Ginny followed suit.

Hermione was drawn into her memories of her sweet prince and was, as always, happy to share. She assumed that so long as Draco hadn’t told her to keep quiet about something, she had no reason not to tell.

“I loved… I had a beautiful white prince who was always with me. After Dad, he was the one I loved most of all. He followed me around the island every day and even when we were apart for the briefest times, we always felt like were were together.”

Murmurings and “aww” emerged from the girls.

“We used to sleep together,” which drew giggles from the new audience which swooshed by the table on their way towards the door. They didn’t yet know about Hermione’s ineptitude with innuendo. “And I’d lounge around staring into his eyes. I was as much his as he was mine.”

From the pleasant hum of girls high on the love of others, came the request to “Describe him. What did he look like?” They didn’t add that he must have been handsome to deserve her in a perverse way of encouraging self-demeaning comments. After only one week they already knew that none of that mattered to Hermione and she didn’t subscribe to their harmful societal niceties.

“He was greater, stronger and more beautiful than any man,” she began, sinking her face into her hands in her slow reminiscing. “And his eyes - his eyes danced with flecks of silver and green. They were gems in the light and caught the Sun with purpose. It was like he stalked the skies when he prowled towards me and his measured strides took my breath away. He was so powerful but I knew he would never hurt me.”

The Patils were slowly swooning into a slump which mirrored Hermione’s own pose. Relaxed and open. Even Romilda was starting to soften up. She had felt uneasy ever since Hermione had turned up. She no longer felt she held the power and she feared that any bitter comments she made now would make the form turn on her when they would have been raring at the bit by her side only a week ago.

It terrified her, but she couldn’t hate Hermione for it either. She didn’t seem the sort to lie or abuse the charm which nature had bestowed upon her and that made Romilda jealous. Very jealous. But surprisingly more with the aim of becoming this new kind of charismatic rather than tearing it down. She wouldn’t admit that though. Romilda had yet to be challenged on anything noteworthy and had never been forced to change anything about herself - not for others, nor for herself. When she came clean about it later, Hermione didn’t blame her for her hesitance and so in her footsteps, despite their tradition of libel, neither did anyone else.

At least in that moment, Romilda knew within herself that she was on the brink of change, now if not ever before. And perhaps she felt this should be her first step. Perhaps, she felt, she should at least try to be more open, to be less cold - it would turn her into a better version of herself. Not a bitch. She’d heard them all behind her back for years - she wasn’t deaf, after all. To be safe from bullying she had become the bully, but it had backfired on her miserably. She was human like everyone else. And “bitch” still hurt. And so did “whore”, and “slut” and “cunt”. She wanted to change and not be any of that anymore.

She wanted to make her family proud. But her supposed friends didn’t know that. They didn’t care. They only knew how to gain her favour and not how to actually befriend her. The Patil twins had come close, but even then Romilda didn’t trust them. Couldn’t trust them. Could she trust Hermione? They shared something important after all. It was her secret and her rival’s honour. Hermione’s mother had died protecting her, Romilda’s had died when she hit the ground from her bedroom window. Shame choked her. But her mother’s smile compelled her forward. She would try her best. To change. To captivate without manipulating. She was willing to sit and listen and learn.

The conversation had moved on but Romilda still bravely spoke out. “Silver in his eyes? You’re the first person I’ve seen with such a metallic colour. Was it actually quite common over there?” Whilst others would have undoubtedly ripped into her for it, Hermione just smiled and accepted the default back to a previous point.

“Not really,” Hermione admitted. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone with my colour of eyes outside of my family. But maybe I was wrong to say his eyes were silvery. They were certainly much more green at least. When we were at Airport Heat Row-”

“Heathrow.” Romilda interrupted. She couldn’t help it. The redhead may have given her a glare but Hermione just smilde in thanks.

“-I actually saw a ring with a gorgeous stone in it the same colour as his eyes. I asked what it was and apparently it’s called ped-pedriot?”

“Peridot.” Romilda corrected again. Hermione was a poor judge of character, believing everyone to have redeeming qualities, but here her views served her well as she was able to slip in errors believable as a foreigner, but ones she, personally, would never have made, thinking it would serve to bring out the best in Romilda. She wasn’t wrong, though.

“Yes that’s right. I was so taken by it that I just had to have it.” Hermione reached into the folds of her white blouse, the gesture innocent but still one which made Adrian who had been looking over start to blush. When she uncurled her grasp, Romilda choired the twins in a gasp. There sat a ring so simple and yet ornate. It wasn’t gaudy and it didn’t stink of wealth like one might suppose it would. It matched Hermione’s tan satchel with its simple lines and her silk blouse with its purity. The metal band was undoubtedly silver, as was the chain looped through it and around Hermione’s neck. Her slight curls tangled tighter at the base of her skull where the chain had caught and tugged gently. The band melded into a four-postered flower on which a simple jewel was sat. A peridot - dark lime green mixed with silver. Hermione’s description had been undeniably right. Tiny little specks of white glanced out in rows of three being the slight twists of silver vines either side of the main jewel.  _ Diamonds,  _ thought Romilda. Another gasp from her and a second later the distant crowd which had gradually gathered over the lunch hour mimicked her expression. Their presence had been muted though by a mixture of Romilda’s turbulent emotions and the impossibility of a rich girl being honest and smart (even if sometimes a little too bluntly and brazenly so). It was as though all the world had all disappeared and it was just the two of them left. Her and Hermione. It felt like magic. Romilda wasn’t sure she hadn’t actually met a fae of some sort. A pixie from an emerald island filled with beautiful women with silver eyes and stunning men with green ones.

She reminded herself of where she was when the redhead’s fingers slid into view and started fiddling which Hermione’s tangled hair, slipping the ring back under Hermione’s blouse. But enough distractions. She had questions to ask, she was curious now, she wanted to know more, she’d just promised herself she’d try to-

“You’re sure real descriptive, ainch’a ‘Mione?” Dean? When had he started paying attention.

“Am I?”  _ As if she didn’t know. Although,  _ Romilda forced herself to remember,  _ she probably didn’t.  _ “I just try and share as much information as I can.”

“Well yeah... Who else would compare someone’s eyes to jewels? If any of us did it it’d just sound like we were spilling bullsh- Ow! What was that for, Gin?” He bent down to pick up the hurled textbook whilst rubbing her forehead.

The redhead gave him a pointed glare. Romilda watched as he realised his error quickly and tried to distract Hermione away from his blunder, her chin tilting, as was habit, outwards in a stance of curiosity.

“So ah-uh- er, what else?”

“About his eyes?”

“Sure! Why not?”

Hermione slid her fingers together and rested her chin on the back of her hands, propping her head up. “Well his eyes would glow like topaz in the dark…”

That earned a groan from the boys and a mixture of the same and some faint fanciful sighing from the girls. It seemed Hermione was starting to pick up on their humour though, as her eyes held a glint of amusement and a cheeky smile began to tug on mouth, making her giggle a little before admitting, “Alriiight, I know.”

Purposeful humor was something new from her and for a moment it stunned them all. Even Ginny was pleasantly recoiling, surprise upturning her lips, before she dove in for a sideways hug and got out some garbled version of “I knew you couldn’t stay this reserved forever!” More laughter. “But I feared you might just end up being some wise old wicker woman for the rest of your life who only thought about love and books.”

“Oh dear!” Hermione dramatised a mock-gasp as she turned her forehead to her best friend, “Anything but that!”

Romilda’s peers burst into laughter at the scene. The Patil twins took turns swatting Hermione in good humor and the boys who had originally seen Hermione as little more than unobtainable eye-candy started to feel a little hot under the collar as their current ideal of perfection turned out to be a little more human that they had initially believed. Distancing themselves wasn’t exactly working now. Hermione was as ever, direct, but now they had no defences. They couldn’t say “yeah right” when thinking about her, dismissing even the slightest possibilities to which teenage minds were prone. Adrian couldn’t handle more and quickly excused himself to the toilets, the flush in his face making it obvious what he was going to do. Dean and Seamus quickly followed, although the former’s dark skin hid his blush far better and the latter’s permanently mottled face barely looked any different. She assumed boys could mentally coordinate how best to avoid each other for privacy in the same way girls would clump together for safety in numbers.

Romilda let out a good natured sigh as she looked back at Hermione. By god she’d managed to change the whole lot of them in only a week. The boys stopped being quite so incompetent and actually looked at each other and the girls with some modicum of respect. It was as though they feared that perhaps they would offend some as yet unvoiced principle of the foreign fae’s and immediately fall out of favour. It was Granger’s way of governance and it was more effective than her own. Where was the name calling and how was it that people were even afraid to swear in her presence? Perhaps in this situation she was the jealous underdog and it was her job to start the counter-movement. But Romilda had already moved past that, or at least she thought she had a foothold in the path of change.

“You said he was a white prince. Did you mean he was a good guy? Like a knight in shining armour?” Romilda worried her bottom lip, mentally tossing the coin to see whether she’d have to try and explain the fairy tale phrase. Either Hermione had already read it somewhere or she ignored it, having grasped the meaning of the question without the qualification.

“I don’t think I could describe him as anything other than good. He was incredibly good to me. Even though I knew he had to eat, I never saw him kill anything in front of me and he always ate alone. It seemed that was one of the few things we didn’t do together - but who would deny us such small privacies? Is it true that it’s very important for families to eat together in England? Because everything I’ve read so far seems to say that some sort of Armageddon approaches whenever you don’t.”

Padma was about to answer when Romilda challenged, “How can you know about Armageddon but not realise that anything we, “the youth”, do is apparently lazy, disrespectful and Americanising our culture?”

“I’ve read the bible is all.” A smile. “And it’d be a bit hard to miss Armageddon in there. I guess if I had an American accent I’d have already heard all sorts comments, either to my face or as I walked away.” She shrugged. “But I don’t and I haven’t.”

“You’d probably turn around and ask them what they mean though, knowing you.” Noted Ginny.

“And then they’d be so embarrassed! Or if you got a rough sort they might get violent...” added Parvati, worry creasing her smile.

Change. Was she ready? Romilda didn’t know.

“Mm, but I know there’s somebody who’d always save me…” It seemed a vague presumption at best. Romilda supposed it meant Hermione had some sort of bodyguard following her around all the time. A mutual “aww” disturbed her as she realised she’d missed the inroad back into the story. Of course, it was the girl’s prince who’d save her. How stupid of her to have missed it.

“Was he blond?” Simpered Parvati. “Or was his hair darker, like ours?” Romilda noticed that the twins had also taken to trying to qualify what they meant. They could change. They had changed so easily. They weren’t just gossips now - they were  _ helpful  _ gossips. Helpful rather than harmful. Could Romilda be the same?

“Yes. When we lay together I’d often stroke his silver fur. It was so relaxing-”

Wait. Fur?

“ _ Fur? _ ” She voiced.

The dumb Patils didn’t seem to have noticed. Oh wait, now they did. How could they forget that they’d be lost without her?

“Hang on, don’t you mean hair?” The damn ginger rat trying to save the day. The foreigner had obviously said fur. She knew what hair was! They’d been asking about hers last week. “Oh, how is yours even that colour?” and “It looks almost like a dusky pink.” and “Did you dye it?” Apparently it was all natural. Ha!  _ Fur!  _ She’d slipped up, the girl had. But Romilda wouldn’t be fooled. The precious princess had been constructing a farce this entire time. Oh, she was good at it alright. She’d even had Romilda for a while. But not anymore. And then - the girl confirmed it. She didn’t even try to deny it or cover up. The nerve!

“Yes, that’s right. Fur. I loved him most of all. He was a white leopard who never left my side.”

Silence from the Indians, an upturned nose of huffed betrayal from the Georgian.

The twins looked their former leader’s way and remembered their loyalties, being louder than expected and getting a little hysterical over the brutal deception. Romilda just stood up quietly and uttered out “Bitch.”

She didn’t stick around to see what else went on, she just walked out the room. At some point, she heard the twins catch up to her and the form room door slam shut. The word she had said now felt alien to her, it was as though she had let her heart heal a little over the past week and was now scorching it anew. She stomped past the returning trio of boys who only ever thought with their other heads and they looked bemused at her anger, then hurried off toward the room she’d left. See! She was right! About it all! Clearly the idiots still didn’t realise they’d been deceived by this new and exotic beauty. She’d make sure they found out though! She was sure about that!

“Romilda Vane?” brought no reply for registration the following period. The trio who’d stomped out of that classroom weren’t to be seen for the rest of the afternoon. They only appeared the next day, in their own little clique, laughing their heads off and back to their pastime of sneering. If it wasn’t for the other members of the form who remained loyal to their source of honest happiness, it might almost have seemed as though a magical week hadn’t been spent worshiping the quirks of the new student. But Ginny had been there and she knew she could protect the only friend she’d ever cared about. She’d be the fae’s flaming force in shining armour. She’d decided and that was that.

 

X-X-X

 

“NO! Please! Please let go of me! No!” The poor woman sobbed streaks of filthy sadness across the pristine mattress. She had already ripped up the sheets in her panic. All the best quality linen for the Head Chamberlain. Quintus had no idea why the man insisted on bringing filthy skanks into the palace but he had no say and didn’t truly care either way. He supposed, if pushed, he could see the appeal of the scene - raping the most base of virgins from the slums in the pure white sheets of the King’s second in command.

“Plea-eeeeaase!” The slurp of choked breaths was sloppy and looked as awful as it sounded. Arousing to only one man. Quinza wasn’t supposed to be looking, nevermind watching. He had meant to simply come and give and go. The files which were to be included in the simple changeover sat sealed on his superior’s desk now as he watched with a calm eye how the man who nearly became a High Priest committed one of the greatest sins their religion had ever thought to write of. But of course, when you were so high up in the world, so close to the King who was believed to be their country’s God incarnate, it meant you could fly above the rules rather than follow them and enjoy watching how others squirmed to abide by them from the moral high ground of a peering sneer.

If Quintus hadn’t been so emotionless he might have worried about what the piranha of a man intended to do next. He would never be satisfied, just as he wasn’t now. The woman’s body was supple and stunning, even if her face was blockaded by staining factory smoke. But rape would never be enough. Aber was a cruel, cruel man. His firm hand clenched bruises up every inch of her before settling around her throat. What could Aber possibly want with those files? The information he had gathered could ruin a fly or could ruin a kingdom, depending entirely on how it was used. Aber wasn’t stupid but he also wasn’t smart. Would he be smart enough to gain the power he wanted without being found out? If Quintus had cared about a pawn like Aber he would have spent more time finding out. As it was, he had a post to return to from which he would surely be called to dispose of yet another body. And then later, when their Sun God, Ra, had cooled his rays a little, Quintus would make a call to the one he actually saw as his superior. The queen on the chessboard who was about to give rise to a new king in their country. And this time, it would be a king Quintus actually  _ wanted _ to follow.

 

X-X-X

 

The reactions of people who stayed inside the classroom were no less dynamic.

“You got them upset” whispered Ginny. She hadn’t fully understood Hermione’s story either. She had been convinced the prince was a human up until that last moment and the big huzzah. But she’d spent practically all her time in school next to this enigma and this was far from the first time where the hook didn’t carry the prize she thought it might. Ginny wasn’t stupid though and she knew it wasn’t intentional.

“Was it something I said?”

“They thought you were making a fool out of them, basically.” She didn’t want to explain the insults, “They thought you meant a person. ‘A white prince’ kinda suggests, y’know, a human prince. And you said you loved him. And if you love a prince it kinda suggests it’s the kind of love where you want to go off and marry him.”

“But I did love him. It’s true.”

“ _ I  _ know that. But I haven’t left your side for a whole week, so f’course I know. But they thought you were doing that to make them seem stupid. You’ve already taken their place in the form without even trying to-”

“What do you mean? I never meant to take anything from anyone! I just want to be friends with every-”

“Like I said. I know, ‘Mione,” Ginny reassured, “But you are incredibly clever, and pretty darn stunning too, even if you do have some flaws. Last week we all came in “knowing our place” as such, with Romilda and the Patils being the prettiest girls in the form - heck, in the school! - and ruling the place like a dictatorship. Then you swan in and everybody thinks you’re beautiful but you don’t act an ounce like them and actually play nice with the boys and don’t say awful things about the other girls just to make yourself seem better.”

“Was- was that how  _ they  _ kept control? By being mean?”

Ginny paused. It felt almost like she was revealing a big bad plot that had been kept from a child who now felt deceived. Ginny pitied Hermione far more than she did the old regime’s trio. Hermione had believed they were actually becoming her friends.

Ginny’s silence had been enough. “I’m going to see them! I need to explain-”

Ginny grabbed Hermione’s hand in time, pulling her back to her seat and explaining patiently to her that there was no point going now because they’d still be angry.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I know. But trust me, yeah? Speak to them when they’ve cooled down a little. Maybe in a week or something. You won’t get anything but insults if you go after them now.”

“Was that what ‘bitch’ was...? An insult?”

Ginny smiled tightly and just said “Yeah. A nasty one. And you’ll probably hear it a lot more until you have a talk with them.”

Ginny could feel Hermione mentally making a list of all the books she was planning to read up on about insults in English and mentally sighed. Hermione believed that all the answers could be found in books but Ginny knew full well that such a belief was well-meant but poorly-founded.

The trio of boys with whom both girls had become close in recent times stormed in past the background noise of gossip and glanced over at Hermione. Worry wedged itself into the lines of their faces. Perhaps they had seen Romilda slipping off or maybe the Patils had kept up their bitchy retorts even as they walked away. Ginny gave the boys a pointed look to say that they shouldn’t approach. They listened and halted, pulling out a chair each. Most of the class had lost their vague interest following the “popular” trio’s surprisingly commonplace screeching so the returning boys blended in quite well, playing cards and allowing themselves only brief glances over in the duo’s direction.

“Hermione?”

The girl breathed out sadly. “Yeah?”

“You said you loved him. Past tense. What happened to that leopard?” When her friend didn’t answer, Ginny shuffled out a small apology and something about not having to tell her if it was private.

“Its-” Hermione breathed slowly, “Mustafa and I couldn’t be parted for ten years. I got him when he was only a cub. I wanted to be with him forever.” Hermione closed her eyes and when they opened, tears sat steadily in the beads of her gaze and overflowed with her memories. “He died.”

Ginny exhaled and slipped her hand out to grasp Hermione’s.

“He died and I wanted so much to die with him. Mustafa was everything to me.”

“Hermione…” The girl leaned onto the redhead’s shoulder and neither moved in the melancholy stutters of the foreigner’s breath.

“You know..." Ginny breathed softly. "I believe you though. I can-” Ginny swallowed audibly, holding back her own emotions, “I can tell you loved him more than anything.” She couldn't deny such honest tears.

In those shared moments, the redhead feared that Romilda had gone off with her wounded pride and was organising a counter-coup to turn everyone against the new girl. The fact they didn’t turn up until the next day would have confirmed it, if not for the smiles which didn’t stop and the way people still couldn't look away from Hermione Granger.

 

X-X-X

 

**Five years ago:**

 

The Sun had always been the most respected elder on the island. It’s power never wavered and was never questioned. Even when it hid behind the guise of angry storms and sea sieges, the people knew that they just had to have faith and spend a while loving one another in the dim darkness, and soon the Sun would turn back around and grant them once more the peace which they could not live without. It was a peace which came and went but would always last and every man, woman and child that had ever walked the Earth desired it. Perhaps they might deny it, perhaps they might announce it with glory, or perhaps they simply might not know. But freedom on the Island of Ropponguy was as essential as the Sun. And those who had walked by the salty cushions of sand and glanced up at the wrinkled face of light just  _ knew  _ they had found it.

The girl lay on her side under the embrace of sentient leaves, enjoying how the tufts would greet her nose anew with every sway of the wind as they pushed by her face. The Sun peeped through the split green of life and forced her eyes into constriction, driving her to peer outwards, compelling her upwards to give her good wishes to the giver of life.

The white-furred head in her lap shifted and its matching limb pawed heavily at the sand by her thigh. He would never hurt her, of that she had no doubt, for if there had ever existed a creature as intuitive and pure as a guardian angel, it was impossible to deny that such a title well and truly belonged to him. He was the Sun’s gift to Earth and to her. He would never leave her side. Never. He was hers as she was his. They couldn’t be parted. He grouched out a stiff puff of stale air and she leant back once more, closing her eyes and ceasing her games with nature’s soothing shields.

 

X-X-X

 

“Ra can only inhabit one person at a time. That is what we have believed for eons and it is shameful that our people are willing to change their beliefs now.”

“Times are changing though, you can’t blame them for being weak.”

“No, I suppose I cannot, Quintus. But when there are people as faithful as you despite such changes, it is easy to be angered and forget.”

“You hold my efforts too highly.”

“To you I speak only truth. I am glad that you are able to see that Ra is destined for the younger prince and that his spirit shall not be imbibed in both men.”

“It is difficult for the people to forget our ancient laws of inheritance so it is easy to see where they draw their conclusions.”

“Is it harder to forget the laws that affect men than the laws that affect Gods?”

“No. No I suppose it is not. But people are prone to believe what is easiest for them to grasp. On that note, I gave Aber the version of events you requested.”

“Good. Good.”

“I’m sure you’re certain of his response, would it be prudent for me to know?”

“I suppose it would do you no  _ harm..  _ . Especially with what is to come next. I shall endeavor to inform you when we are guaranteed our privacy.”

“How is his Royal Highness?”

“Acclimatising, I would say. The Prince is as noble as ever and I am certain that he will soon be ready for his own changes and transitions.”

“That comes as a relief. With Crown Prince Dudley acting as he is, I am certain that such stability will reassure the people when the time comes that they need it most.”

“Precisely. Is all being done to guard His Majesty’s quarters? The spirit of Ra need not leave our current king until we are ready for its departure.”

“Of course. The pois- The liquid tool has also been secured since we last spoke.”

“Excellent.”

“Has any headway been made with regards to other alternatives?”

“Oh? I thought you were all too happy to replace King Charles. Having a change of heart?”

A huff of derision. “Hardly. I simply seems prudent to ask.”

“Of course, Quintus. And no. The plan still stands. The spirit of Ra can be passed on in other ways, but His Majesty is not one to simply abdicate when his time is due,  _ unlike his father,  _ and this shall enable far easier progression with the remained of our plans.”

Quintus smiled. Above all else he appreciated progress. “Of course.”

“Bon Ala, Quintus.”

“Bon Ala, sire.”

And the servant of the Crown switched off the modern affrontement to tradition, ending the call, before smiling into the warm night.

“Bon Ala, people of Raginala. Chaos must, as ever, come before peace. There is far too much corruption in this unholy place of worship. God’s House must be cleansed before it might be revived.”

 

X-X-X

 

**Five years ago:**

 

“You had another fight, I bet.”

She stretched and yawned but she needn't have opened her eyes. The words were spinning out of her mouth as was typical of her know-it-all self. And if there was ever anything she could truly say she knew, it was the two of them. The two dearest friends the world could have ever offered her.

Her white prince had risen and left her turning amongst the plush emerald duvet alone; the boy was sitting close enough to touch the frosty animal but his upturned nose funneled the huffs of defeat. His silver-blue eyes were tucked behind the blinds of principle and his arms which were rapidly becoming corded with strength remained furled together, a tiny cut marring only one wrist. He would be happy with his progress.

The boy turned to face her, eyes opening to grasp at her silhouette. The leopard just raised his head from the perch of his folded paws, his tilted eyes smiling at her. Another huff from the boy.

“You always get so flustered when it comes to Mustafa.” Her light plod reflected her youth, but her eyes couldn’t be denied.

“I don’t get flustered.” The words were more a pout than a retort, the boy already rising to meet her. His arms left their place and drifted to his sides, hanging aimlessly as he twisted towards the girl.

She was shorter than him. Perhaps even by a foot. But her gaze had always met his on equal ground and her smile had always pierced him and drawn out his own. His cheeks clenched resisting, but it was futile. The upwards chink of happy light was undeniable. He would gladly train himself in the movements and smile more for her. She was his source of happiness and with her he felt sure he could share his. He would never hurt her, not ever. For he had sworn to forever be hers, even if she was never his. He would stand by her and be her guardian angel and he would impart on her the love he had in him - on this lonesome island which trapped it’s loving people with water-washed walls until they followed in the footsteps of love and adoration which he had been tracing for many a year now, each time returning to Ropponguy and to his sleeping beauty.

She wasn’t fooled by him anymore. Although it was fairer to say she never had been. Her attitude from their first meeting had hooked him and every meeting after that had secured their bond. He could never hide anything - even when he had wanted to. She glanced pointedly at his puckered lips and the dangling damage on his wrist before tracing back up to his face framed by bright blond locks. The taupe that remained in the under bush of his hair as a permanent reminder of his father’s affair had not yet been transformed by the island’s master, nor would it ever be. Yet how they both wished that the shameful stain would be erased, and that the boy would stay with her, under the Sun, waiting and trying for eternity and a day.

“Mm-hmm.” She said no more, just smiling honestly at him. Honest but teasing. He both hated and loved that.

The boy turned away a little, his pride as a growing man tilting him so. “It’s pretty simple. He just can’t stand how wonderful I am,” he said without effort.

She laughed broadly. “Oh yeah? And I can’t stand the library.” She kept giggling and hooting out as he continued to pout with twitching lips.

“Well in that case he simply hates me.“

“Oh, we both know that’s not true, Malfoy.” He turned back to her, his pout real this time. She rarely used his last name but when she did he always felt affronted, as though the vast distance they had crossed had suddenly expanded between them once more. She never seemed to pick up on it though, so Draco had always kept his wounded pride to himself on such occasions. This time was no different.

“Mustafa just wants to be your friend.” She was undeniable and his expressive mouth melted into neutrality once more as she crouched down to the snowy cat and ran her fingers past his ears, coaxing a happy sigh. “See?” She needn’t have garnered the feeble evidence for both he and the beast were willing to believe every word she said - be it the truth or breaching into the realm of “not quite so”.

The feline raised his head to the boy, his face far wiser than the child’s despite being just a cub when he was brought to the sands alien to his pelt by the very boy in question some years ago. The boy in turn looked away, and back to the girl. She grinned in a way which caught her giggles before they burst forth. And then they did. And then she was running away from them both and towards the gentle slop of mid-day miracles as the Sun was caught in the web of water chasing currents around her toes. The linen of her top rose to tan her tummy as she spun a few meters down the coast.

The boy had barely had time to open his mouth in a slight gasp of a question before asking simply, “Hermione?”

Splash. The footfalls of a girlish childhood pulled him after her and she grasped in her hands the water’s power and flung darts of anodyne glass into his broadening torso, the wet globes splatting lightly. The Goddess’ laughter grew slowly as she repeated her display and drew the boy into a parry, his handfuls dull in her shadow, hers ever brighter for his presence, forcing her sights further into the open skies where she was free to hold the world in her hands. The Sun caught by the sea and the sea caught by her and the deep ocean of feelings of every man and woman and child who had ever loved her stored in her heart.

The leopard stretched to shift his spots and sauntered towards to childhood mayhem, purring in the vast cavern of his heart and filling the air with appreciation for the freedom and love to which the young boy had brought him and with which the young girl had provided him. He had a part to play though. That’s what made it all the more fun, after all. As the boy backed away from the girl, snuffling out the salt from a higher-aimed spray, the powerful beast flicked his tail across the boy’s shoulder, the slight slap reminding them both of their false feud, but more importantly, of their shared duty.  _ To protect her. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure every author will tell you, feedback is our life blood. So I would very much appreciate kudos and comments. :)


	3. Growing Up

It was a new day and things had to be done. Hermione couldn't let one loss get her down forever. She’d make up with Romilda soon enough. Ginny said to wait and whilst she didn’t want to, _not really,_ she trusted that her friend knew best.

She dangled her fingers over the brim of her bed and stretched out to reach her clothes. She was starting to understand what Ginny meant about Mondays. Her original enthusiasm, whilst not waning, was certainly mellowing out from excitement into simple contentedness. Maybe she’d have to ask to try some of this “coffee” everyone kept talking about. She wondered if it was some sort of medicine. The way they talked about it it certainly seemed to be.

Her fingers danced over her blouse and her nails caught briefly as she popped each button through their corresponding holes. The small strawberry print was faint but still technically not allowed by the school rules. Maybe a little part of Hermione wanted to rebel, but it was more the fact that everyone seemed to disregard the rules in their own subtle ways - an un-tucked shirt here, a top button open there - and she just wanted to fit in. She wanted to be friends with everyone.

Ron kept telling her to fit in too. In fact, he’d taken to bellowing it up the stairs and through the bathroom door and even in her ear when he’d manage to get close enough. The “Hermione, please try your best to keep a low profile” had vanished into thin air and the suspiciously structured sentences had devolved into “I’m supposed to be your bodyguard! You know, a person who  _ guards  _ your  _ body  _ . You’re not trying at all are you, ‘Mione? ‘Mione!” Hermione’s laughter the night before had briefly suffocated his diatribe. It wasn’t that she didn’t care or didn’t know, but she trusted him and she knew she was safe even when she refused a lift home (which was their current point of conflict), if only because she could see his beady eyes peeping around concrete corners as he followed her tirelessly and without fail. And anyway, pulling his leg a little had never done any damage in the past.

“Hermione.  _ Please.  _ Even if it’s just today, just let me drive you home. It’s safer to drive you than let you walk all the way back here.”  _ Looks like Ron’s up  _ , she thought far from miserably.

She walked over to her door and drew it open a little. The reason for her defiance was because she’d taken to walking Ginny to her front door after school. She would admit freely that it was really rather sweet how much Ron worried about her and she promised herself that if she so much as suspected any foul play she’d listen to him and do as he advised. But for now…

Her lengthening bob peeped around her door and called down the stairs, telling Ron something which made him whine out a desperate “‘Mione!” as well as what she wanted for breakfast. Today, she thought, she wanted strawberries.

 

X-X-X

 

“Frank! How good of you to come! Have a seat, have a seat!” The greasy curls of a man who had committed murders in every corner of the world flopped miserably over his forehead as his drunk bluster welcomed his friend into his current abode.

“Oh don’t give me that, Sirius. You knew I was coming.” All that met the comment was a hummed acknowledgement which suggested that the criminal in fact had heard nothing at all.

“You’re a good man, you are Frank. Always doing this for me.”

“I couldn’t not.” Frank worried at his bottom lip though. He had tried to tell his friend the futility of his efforts for many years and when he had arrived this year he had been certain he had the resolve to confront the man. The tear-ridden cheeks as curtains to a neurotically false smile made him pause much the same way that he had every year. Frank gathered his resolve though. If he couldn’t stop Sirius in the brazen way of honest friendship, he would simply have to act covertly.

“Did you bring Alice this year?”

“No, she decided it would be best to stay in Berlin with the pregnancy and all.”

“Oh yes, of course! What did you decide to name the child again?” Forgetfulness. Sirius always managed to forget things. Anything. Everything. Except maybe Frank and, of course, the “kid”.

“Neville. We found out it would be a boy last month.”

“Oh, excellent name! It means ‘new home’, does it not? A perfect fit for you and your dear wife.”

Frank muttered out something about being “close enough”, but Sirius’ focus on his family worried him. It was unusual and had they not been friends it would surely have been a threat.  _ Sirius isn’t sane.  _ The thought whipped into Frank’s mind as he throttled his own gasp. Just as he was about to meet the eyes of the man he had known so long, they found him instead. Gone was the blissful peace of indulgence in the most painful time of year. In place of those hazy globes now teetered beady stars which grappled with reality and pulled up the curtains of Sirius’ face to reveal a shark-like grin.

“You’ve always been such a dear to me Frank. And I know I haven’t always made it easy.” Frank gulped. “So I thought that this year - just as an experiment, you know - we’d try something a little…  _ different.  _ ”

Frank Longbottom stood stock still and recognised the feeling of terror within himself. He knew, in that moment, that he had never hated the look of hope on someone’s face as much as he hated it then.

 

X-X-X

 

Ron was ranting again.

“Doesn’t it just seem like a hassle to walk when you can slip into a nice big car and get driven back to your house? Walter does his best to make sure you have a smooth ride in the mornings when you actually let him do his job. Did we accidently pass over a bump one time in the afternoon and you concluded that you’d had enough?”

“Do I really seem that fickle?” Asked Hermione. She sincerely hoped not.

“No... no you don’t. I just don’t understand why-”

“I’ve told you before, haven’t I?” Hermione was pouting a little, her arms crossed in a minimal huff. “I want to spend some extra time with Ginny after school, and between her part-time job and homework she doesn’t have enough time for us to go off and do anything nice together.”

“Then why don’t you walk with her in the mornings too? At least then you’d make more sen-”

“If I could, I’d take her off to Paris this weekend. She keeps telling me about how much she enjoyed it when she went with her family and how she wants to go back there and  _ I could  _ -”

“‘Mione! Flying people to Paris is not blending in! What did I ask you to do the day we landed? ‘Keep a low profile’, I said. And what do you do? You talk about weekend trips abroad like there’s no planning involved and as though it doesn’t cost a penny.”

Hermione looked at him curiously. “I’ve never noticed that it takes that long to book a flight.”

“Well you wouldn’t would you? You’re never the one booking it. I am. And I only manage it so quickly because I can wave around your dad’s business card and his big fat wallet.”

“But that’s yours to use Ron, it always has been. I’m not seeing the problem.”

“The problem…” inhaled Ron, “is that I would have given anything to have all these things when I was your age and I’d appreciate it if you just saw how lucky you are a little more, y’know...” Ron trailed off into silence, his former accent slurring the last word.

“I-” She exhaled softly. “I’m sorry. I... sometimes forget. And I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful for everything, because I am, I really am. I’m thankful for both you and Walter who work so hard for me, especially when I don’t listen.” She looked at them both with a sorry expression but then turned back to Ron with a plea, “But at the same time I want to have a little more freedom than you want to give me. I almost never left Ropponguy for over a decade. Dad took me there when I was two, and when did I get to leave for long enough to actually call it freedom? A fortnight ago when I was fourteen. I just want to spread my wings a little more. And I believe in you. I believe in your strength! I know that if I need you to slip into the frame and save the day, you will. I know I’m safe with you. And I  _ promise  _ to tell you if I don’t feel safe and I’ll even stop walking Ginny home if it gets that bad.” She stopped to draw breath and then added quietly. “Do you think you could believe in me a little more too?”

Slow murmurs extended the conversation further for another few minutes before Walter announced that they’d arrived and, in fairness, Hermione had to admit that the ride had been exceptionally smooth and, in her head, she wondered if  _ driving  _ Ginny home was a good compromise between walking and Paris.

X-X-X

 

“You know how it is with her, there’s no stopping her when she gets her mind on things.”

Ron slumped in his seat as he watched his charge wave at him whilst she walked through the school gates. He sighed softly.

“I know. And it sure is better than having to work for someone who treats you like dirt.” That earned a half chuckle from Walter. The chauffeur had served Hermione’s father for many a year and knew that he had been just the same in his youth. A little brash and a touch eccentric with a determination that few could match. But he had been impossible to ignore and it was difficult not to, in the very  _ least _ , respect him. Walter had been honoured when the man had asked him to help protect his daughter. It wasn’t a secret that she was the most precious thing in the world to him, and even if she didn’t yet fully understand why she’d spent so long on the island, Walter knew for certain that that man’s decision to send her there was a painful but necessary one.

“How do you think I could make her listen to me a little more?” Asked Ron.

Walter smiled into the rear-view mirror indulgently and suggested, “Maybe you should try waiting for her by the gates. It’ll be harder for her to avoid you if you act as a physical obstacle for her.”

The ginger in the back started spluttering as though the chauffeur had proposed something ridiculous, or maybe something embarrassingly simple which the boy hadn’t yet thought of.

“No. Well, you see- I can’t really, y’know - show my face when I’m- um-”

Walker laughed deeply and supplied, “When you’re her  _ undercover  _ bodyguard, right?”

A blush wasn’t being suppressed terribly well as it edged up the back of the boy’s ears.  _ He has a funny way of seeing things,  _ thought Walter. He wore the neighbouring school’s uniform and his weapons and technology were tumbled into a rucksack rather than a briefcase. The older man supposed that, at seventeen, the boy was allowed a little mystery and suspense, especially considering what sort of background he had come from and how proud he was to have the job he had.

Ron huffed a little again, obviously having retreated back in his own mind, and Walter took that as the sign to drive around the corner to where they usually parked in order to watch over their charge.

Walter was sure that the girl didn’t know about the trackers in her clothes, or the ones in her bag, or the ones in her phone or her books or anywhere else big enough to hold one. But given that  _ somehow  _ , everyday without exception, almost every tracker went in separate directions, Ron was convinced that the heiress  _ did  _ , in fact, know and actually did what she did intentionally. What made it even more frustrating for the redhead was the fact that, whilst you would expect that if you followed the trackers on the girl’s clothes, you would quite naturally find Hermione, he very rarely did.

Once when he had seen the blipping dots of her shoes straying towards the dark alley which nicked the side of the school, he had dashed out the car, all sense of cautiousness thrown to the wind, barrelling towards the possible spot of danger, ready to verbally eviscerate the girl and remind her all about the dangers of running off and doing things without a plan. His panting head had been congealing a lecture for the girl three years his junior when he had turned the corner and quickly backed up, seeing no Hermione but rather three other foreign-looking girls. He wouldn’t admit that in that moment of pause he foresaw what Hermione’s retort would have been: that he never had a plan either and yet he always ended up just fine.

When the troublesome trio had left, Ron was about to go and investigate the supposed site of the shoes, assuming correctly that his poor charge was the subject of bullying... but  _ not  _ realising the extent to which the counter-movement was quite so vehement in their appreciation of their new classmate. A swarm of pubescent boys and rowdy girls had poured out of what he knew to be the gym in order to quickly rescue the black shiny shoes from one of the fox-mauled rubbish bins. A flurry of action had commenced to soap and wash them and then spray them with whichever cheap perfume the swarm had pre-agreed smelt best before handing them down the line to a set of grey towels, which Ron had sadly realised were probably the cleanest in the building, where the pair had been dried off and made just about as good as new.

Ron had assumed that Hermione wouldn’t notice the difference given her preoccupation with books and goodwill, but Hermione  _ had,  _ in fact, been paying attention when her shoes had come trolloping back into her form room in the hands of half a dozen friends. Whilst she hadn’t noticed when they had been swept from under her seat after she had taken them off, even  _ she  _ couldn't have missed their arrival. She hadn’t missed their slightly altered appearance either but she had thought nothing of it, and if she had, then only that they smelt far nicer than the whiff of feet which had cemented itself into the leather over the past week.

Despite the essential non-event, Ron had still taken it upon himself to make up for his disappointment and berate her - because then he had known for certain that Hermione had been doing many things in her new school, but blending in had not been one of them. Her laughter in response had at least been happy and not mocking, but it sounded all too much like Walter’s when he’d asked Ron how he’d managed to deliver the shoes straight to Hermione without being seen and had received nothing but a garbled admission from the boy.

Walter, of course, had known all along that Hermione had been with her blouse and skirt and not wandering around the school stark naked save for her shoes. Ron had felt rather humiliated, but that night he had paced the length of his room thinking that it had hardly been his fault when only a couple of days beforehand they’d found that Hermione had swapped her expensive garments with another girl who had wanted to try them on in exchange for the rag-tag deformations in which Ron had found Hermione that afternoon. To make matters worse, she had freely admitted that she’d half been goaded into it by some boys, although of course  _ she  _ didn’t see it that way, and the unassuming girl hadn’t even secured a promise from the swappee to treat her silky clothes with care if she was going to wear them. Honestly, Ron was amazed that the garments even came back home in one piece given the school’s reputation. He supposed it must just have been Hermione’s influence. He had always found that the influence of money might as well have been magic.

What worried him even now though were the boys. Girls were all very well but he’d grown up hearing debasing conversations about women from all angles and knew very well that to boys and young men in this area of the country, ‘yes’ and ‘no’ meant very little indeed. Hermione might have been enchanting and almost impossible to disobey, but he feared than the male populace wouldn’t even listen to what she had to say. They could resist her and deny her demands so long as they didn’t hear them, and if they worked as a pack or a rabble to attack his poor charge, he knew she’d be defenseless. She was incredibly beautiful too, so it would hardly be a chore for them, in fact they’d be all too eager-

“Ron. Ron!” The redhead snapped out of his reverie.

“Uh-ah. What is it Walter?”

“You might want to have a look at her games kit. You said you wanted to make sure she didn’t do any sport on the ice given her lack of exp-”

“Oh for goodness sake!” And so Ron was off again to the tinkling chime of his good friend and sort-of mentor’s laugh.

 

X-X-X

 

**One year ago:**

 

Rosmerta had been given her name in the hope that she would bring about the fertility and abundance her divine namesake had been known for. To some extent, she had fulfilled this expectation, with round, heavy breasts and a cat-like snigger which purred up the arms of rich men and handsome boys. Rosmerta had yet to be a mother beyond her all too frequent pregnancy scares though, and it would have been far more accurate to describe her as a waste of space, breath and consideration in any field one might suppose her into. Rosmerta Karkaroff was a hideous hybrid of beauty and privilege and rather than bringing forth a harvest of life, she had made it her trade to strip her brother and father of as much money as she could and live a wasted life of luxury.

Perhaps the bosomed drama queen could have been bearable had she not also been a bully to her source of income. The Gods apparently could not find it within themselves to hate her though, for even whilst her brother had trembled in fear at the mere mention at her name for the first decade of this life, he could not deny her her pig-headed desires - be that due to family love or duty.

For Viktor Karkaroff, seeing the blond backside of the painfully familiar wailing banshee he was forced to call a sister was not a rare occurrence. Being called into his father’s office, though,  _ was  _ .

“Viktor.” The deceptive lull of a cut-throat delinquent crippled into his age through his desire for revenge niggled into his son’s ears. What so many people typically perceived as a harsh accent could have been no further from the stereotype, with the letters forming sweet syllables in a single breath. As ever though, with brazen honesty removed, only the swelling bruise of truant truth was to be found.

Viktor had been allowed to take control of Karkaroff Enterprises and had resolutely made it his sour duty to follow in the footsteps of his father as was expected of him, if only to usurp the position as the dragon’s head before further harm could be done. The fading emperor’s might clung on firmly though, and his efforts to regain control of what he had been gradually giving up were worrying. Viktor drew his features into a sober mask. It would do him no good to show his thoughts. Three certain women had taught him that lesson too many times to count.

“Father?” The bulk or a failed soldier stepped into the lavish mahogany office. The light was dull and the green timber dyed by lampshades echoed across the few worktops left uncluttered. Viktor was met by an undisguised smirk.  _ This can’t be good,  _ he breathed.

The aging man waited until his future walked into the room and slipped the snicket of the door shut.

“Vitya. Have you begun researching Site Watson yet?”

“Da. Although I have yet to gather enough to make any informed conclusions,” the young man answered tentatively.

“Mmm…” The sound trailed off but the cropped head dared not fill the silence. A while later, when Viktor was regretting tensing his hands in a throttling grasp behind his back, the reclining man spoke from his antique chair. “I have seen the effort you put into all that I have asked of you and you have yet to displease me. I hope you shall not begin doing so now…” Viktor gritted his teeth. “I have been spending time reconsidering the heads and tails and ins and outs of all that has afflicted my mind these past decades and I had been coming to the conclusion that perhaps I would not finish parsing through our impossible reality before the dust of time chose to claim me.” A greasy, dark grey cloak of hair tinkled over the man’s proud nose as he reached out his hand, ordering Viktor to grasp it silently. The palm was coarse and reflected a tormented mind which had been put through so much. “But recently, Vitya, I have heard murmurings of news I consider interesting to my cause.  _ Our  _ cause. Site Watson may equate to almost nil in its physical worth however it is to be the statement of a deal with which I am about to make the fortune I deserve - and bring about the fate  _ He  _ deserves, too.”

Deadly calm enveloped the furnished cell but the edging pain of the man’s grip reflected the simplicity with which Viktor felt doom sink into his very bones. Would everything he had been working towards be overthrown? The certainty with which the man spoke was paralysing. No matter his form, the man was undeniably an emperor and would not be overthrown so easily. Viktor have been a fool to believe otherwise. A foolish boy no better than an over-eager colt. And yet, during his internalised panic, he sincerely hoped that all was not lost.

 

X-X-X

 

The bench was a little colder under her than she had expected, and the thrill of avoiding class was also much more exciting than she would have envisaged. Perhaps she would have self-righteously proclaimed that they were all breaking the school rules and should have been ashamed of themselves - except she found herself realising that the rearranged class for first aid was theoretically optional, meaning that she needn’t feel bad about not turning up, and that the basics which Ginny had told her would be covered seemed like two plus two in her books given she was already quite capable of administering various medical treatments. Climbing and consequently falling off trees had its repercussions and one of them was paying attention to how to fix yourself up, even if not to the warning not to do it again. Hermione was smart, but not smart enough to stop being daring.

The suggested game of Truth or Dare to pass the time also seemed to be quite exciting and, whilst Hermione had initially been nervous for she didn’t want to have to lie about the things she had promised Draco not to talk about, it seemed as though her new friends didn’t really have a foothold on a loose link which might unravel her past history and so Hermione quickly relaxed into a cuddling sag against Ginny, her eyes often closing for minutes at a time whilst she enjoyed the camaraderie and cheer surrounding her in the changing room.

Some of the girls had slipped into their games kit whilst others hadn’t done anything at all, but there were also some who had been moaning about how hot it was despite being September and had actually stripped down to just their bras and skirts. Someone had asked her if she wasn’t hot leaning against Ginny, but when Hermione had ascertained that her friend wasn’t uncomfortable under her head and torso, she responded that she’d rather be a little too warm but comfy. It seemed as though her classmates had begun to realise just how lazy Hermione was when she had nothing to do. They could almost imagine the ocean and the trees surrounding the painted image of a rich girl sleeping for hours on a beach. The heat of the day was making their visions especially believable now. Had Hermione thought to bring a book, the picture would have been even truer.

“I dare you… to hop in the shower right now and stay under the cold spray for five seconds!”

Whoever was on the receiving end of the dare gave a deep groan before bargaining, “Three?”

“Four.” A compromise.

After a fortnight of being guided by Ginny, Hermione was slowly beginning to realise that her interjections weren’t always appropriate and, as the redhead had put it, whilst it was charming on the first day, if she didn’t stop soon - people would start to get irritated by it. That was why Hermione refrained from asking about the ethics of the game and voicing her concerns about the dare, but rather sank into the happy shrieks of fun which came flowing her way a moment later.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” Ginny’s shoulder shifted under her head, “wake up, you bumpkin, the bottle says it’s your turn.” That was something else she found funny in this country but which she was gradually getting used to. Things and animals and events and seasons and anything at all could “say” and “tell”, and even when there were no words on a page, people could read - read music, read the time, read someone’s mind. Didn’t at least the last one deserve some more grandiose action? Hermione had learned about love from the people she had met and the culture she had lived with, but between all her texts being blunt and non-fiction, and her hatred of slippery words, she was still left bemused by many phrases. Her obsessive research had, of course, explained their meaning and their purpose to her and had allowed Hermione to be poetic herself when necessary, but her stance left her unsympathetic to their usage. To her it was all just a way of trying to disguise the truth she valued so highly. She had yet to experience the beauty of emotion conveyed in the literature she would be expected to know all about as a member of upper class society. It would be certain to change her opinions, but for now thoughts deriding the worth of her targeted aspects of language chased circles around her brain and spirited her imagination to vibrancy. Hermione heaved herself up a little and her eyes slipped open. They were lacking the expected bleariness and still as bright as ever.

“Alright then. Who has the honour of asking me then?” It sounded like it could have been pompous but the brazen ferocity of joy dissuaded offense.

“Truth or dare!” It came out more as excitement personified than a question, but Hermione turned to look at her classmate with equal vigour and replied with a bright smile, “Dare.”

 

X-X-X

 

It was useless.

Ron had run all the way to the skating rink, the one luxury afforded by the relatively impoverished school. Crappy lunches, broken chairs, no heating after January… but also a half-decent ice rink. Personally, Ron didn’t understand what compelled people to like any sort of snow sport. It was cold enough and miserable enough in rainy old England to see him through as it was - he didn’t need extra exposure to discomfort thank you very much.

Ron also had no idea why Hermione wanted to come to England of all places. Her island was a paradise he could only have dreamt about. He’d dropped out of school when he was sixteen and after a month of slaving away at a steel factory, he was convinced that his life wasn’t going to go anywhere. He honestly had no idea how on Earth  _ he had actually got here  _ . Got this job. An extremely well-paid job. A job that was dynamic and exciting and whilst it was stressful - he’d take any time you gave him to tell you it was stressful - it was also the most fun he had had in his entire life.

That, sadly, didn’t fix his current situation though, and that was that he stood, teeth chattering, in the middle of the entrance hall to the ice rink. His red hair and paranoid desperation made him stick out like a sore thumb. He looked around and caught they eye of the wary assistant on duty and the group of girls jauntily walking towards the ice with their stupidly thin assault weapons glued to their feet.

“You’re from St. Brooke’s Academy, aincha? What d’you want around here?” One of the towering threats started talking. He might have flinched.

“Er…” He supplied unhelpfully.

“Are you looking for someone perhaps?” He turned to look over at the desk. That girl, who was actually probably a teaching assistant or even a trainee, seemed like a safer bet. He went with her supposition.

“Yeah, I’m actually looking for-”

“Probably that skank in lower school. They’ve got the same fuckin’ forest fire for a head.” Ron swerved around, fully intent on giving the girl a piece of his mind.

“Lavender! If you don’t zip it I’m going to give you a detention. I’ve had  _ quite  _ enough of your attitude for one day.”

“Ha! You ain’t got the authority for that.”

“Oh yes I have. And if you won’t listen to me, you’ll listen to Mr Jones, that’s for sure.”

Ron watched the overly made up girl pale a little and then stamp away. Evidently Mr Jones must have been some sort of monster if he could make that wench cower.

“I really am sorry about that. But if you’re from the area, I guess you’re probably used to it.”

“A-Ah, kind of... yeah.” Ron glanced down at his watch and slid it onto the tracker setting. The red dots blipped as Lavender swarmed away with her friends but Ron breathed a sigh of relief when one of the group who had a far thinner frame skipped away and slid onto the ice, dragging the dots with her.

“S’cuse me. Look-” Ron snapped back to the present. “Normally I’d have to report you to reception. You’re kinda breaking and entering and all - even if there’s practically no indication of where the school starts and ends - but you look like a good kid so I’ll ignore it for today. Were you looking for the redhead after all, then? I can find out where she’s meant to be for you.” The young woman turned to her computer and started typing without waiting for a response.

Ron had ‘yes’ tugging at the tip of his tongue. Hermione would surely be with Ginny but he needed to avoid making the connection between him and another student. He was supposed to be invisible after all.

“Er yea-no. I’m actually looking for-” Wait. A link between him and Hermione was probably even worse. The mature girl blinked at him confused.

Ron was getting very tempted to just say “You know what, it’s alright. Never mind. Ignore it all!” and walk out. He could just go to every other location where the damned spots swelled across his screen! But that sort of response would only bring up unnecessary questions... Instead he acquiesced to find Ginny and when he corroborated her location as, “theoretically the first aid room, but more likely still dallying in the changing rooms”, with what he had assumed were Hermione’s tidily folded clothes, he dashed out of the freezing rink and towards the gym.

 

X-X-X

 

“My God! You’re like a proper monkey on those things!”

The girls ‘oo’ed and ‘ah’ed as Hermione swung from bar to bar, effortlessly crossing from one gymnastic discipline to another. She looked majestic in mid-air and then suddenly comical as she paused to sneeze whilst balancing in a deformed ina bauer. The disparity between perfection and affable ignorance was still endearing. Hannah found that the class had divided themselves between those who respected Hermione and those who wanted to look after her. She was definitely wedged in the first category. She could only dream of being as brilliant as Hermione, but the fact she’d seen the girl slip on a banana peel right in front of her eyes as if she was in some kind of cartoon and then trip _ up  _ the stairs - all thirty-nine steps of them - had made her seem unusually approachable too. She wouldn’t have suggested the dare otherwise. Now she was reaping the benefits of showing a little courage as everyone around her enjoyed the display the wild child was putting on for them.

A snicker from the door caught her attention and she noticed how Romilda and the twins were sniggering where nobody could see them. Or at least - everyone else was busy watching Hermione and didn’t care to notice the unwanted trio. Unlike the others though, Hannah’s years as a weedy victim had left her acutely aware of any possible dangers, which was why she was currently eyeing up the triple threat rather than similarly watching her new idol.

Suddenly, the door was swinging shut as the weight of one of them dislodged from it and, for the first time in her life, Hannah felt emboldened and capable of telling them what she thought about them. They’d taken offense to a little blunder Hermione had made and now they were sulking and being sourpusses about it. Hermione didn’t hold it against them so Hannah had no idea why they couldn't just swallow their own damn pride already and apologise.

She began to walk in their direction when a freckled hand caught her shoulder and a mute shake of Ginny’s head conveyed that it wasn’t worth it. She was whispering to her something about how this was between Hermione and them and that she should look at them -  _ really look at them  _ \- and see they didn’t mean to be petulant. Hannah assumed that meant they just didn’t know how to say sorry. But further consideration only came later.  _ Later  _ because a shrill shriek emerged from the mass of girls congregated around the metal stands and padded equipment, shocking Hannah’s thoughts onto a different track. From the odd words she managed to catch, she gathered that one of the boys had stuck his head in through the back door and the girls who had stripped down to their bras had decided to give him a piece of their mind through ear-splitting objection. It was shrill and painful and given that the boy might not have done it intentionally, Hannah felt her heart give and felt sorry for him.

 

X-X-X

 

“Quintus?”

“Yes, sire.”

“How went the meeting?”

“More than well. The head was overeager.”

“Not idiotically so, I hope.”

“Not at all. He spoke with the sort of mania you would associate with a long-standing desire for vengeance.”

“As... sinful as such a thing is, it is an undeniably useful tool.”

“Certainly, sire. I cannot help but wonder though, why aid us in our mission if he is so concretely focused on his own?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“No, sire.”

“Either he shares our beliefs, or, more likely, removing the person we desire gone shall aid his own quest in turn.”

“In terms of legislation? There is no guarantee that things shall be changed when the current king is gone.”

“What have I told you so very many times in the past, Quintus?”

“You have told and taught me a great many things, sire.”

“But I should hope that one of the main things you remember is that in times of revolution, even the basest of underdogs may rise.”

“Of course, sire.”

“You must  _ also  _ remember that should his aim lie in changing legislation, with our partnership comes a certain guarantee for him that we would aid him in such a development.”

“Due to blackmail?”

“Not that he would be able to pin anything on us of course, but is it not far easier to forge a signature than suppress all the fuss a miscreant like him may cause?”

“You are right. Of course, sire.”

“Now if his goals lay not in changed legislation…”

“You mean to imply there could be something else?”

“It must be noted that his aim could, in fact, relate to certain persons rather than laws.”

“You mean the Royal Family?”

“That would be the natural deduction… but it is better not to think of such things until such a time that a plan must be forged... Otherwise you make enemies out of allies you need keep in good faith.”

“You are right, as ever, sire.”

“Ra rises, I believe it is time to part.” The Sun twinkled it’s glory through the early morning mist and ripped up the guise of shadows clayed onto the conspirators’ faces.

“Have a good day, Quintus.”

“You too, sire.”

“Osvyati Ra.”

“Osvyati Ra.”

Quintus took his cue to retreat to the safety of the Palace as he was certain to do many times over the coming years, leaving the man capable of bringing great good through great harm to stand alone. The man’s back was warmed by the Sun and he felt the power within himself rise with it, creeping like a hot breath up his sides. The man would not burden the only brethren whose loyalty he was sure of. No further than he had already, at least. When the dawn broke past the clouds, he would be required to serve in his post as the Chamberlain to His Royal Highness. For now though, he would contemplate the dilemma in the boy’s stead - if this most famed assassin did indeed have his eyes on a Royal besides the King, what was he to do? Break away now? Easier to forget a meeting than suffer from a plot’s consequences. A willingness to dispose of the King implied a willingness to dispose of others.

_ Revenge, you unholy motivation. It is the greatest sin known to our people - to kill a God-bearing king. It is one I must live with once our designs have taken root, but I shall not allow an unholy demon to repeat the act with the man who deserves the throne in our current king’s stead. I shall ensure that our true king will thrive! _

The man shifted and took the sparks of light as his encouragement to move.  _ But what if it is not for revenge, but love?  _ The two were practically the same, after all. The man knew that better than most. Had he been of a different culture, he would have cursed the Gods above as he realised that he would now have to consider the women he had thus far ignored.  _ Oh help me, Ra! _

 

X-X-X

 

Ginny felt disturbed. Admittedly, not as much as the poor sods who’d decided to strip off, but disturbed nonetheless. It was as if she’d seen a ghost. But before she had the chance to consider why the chill which had soaked into her skin hadn’t evaporated with the shock of sheer noise, she was running. Running towards the steel harness of factory strength, running towards the flaking neon of catastrophe, running towards the toppling figure of the first real friend she’d had in a long time.

“HERMIONE!”

A crash.

Sharp. Desperate.

But no snap. No snap.

Thank God!

The monkey had gripped the lone bar skimming the breach of safety above the ground and was now heaving out the adrenaline of near disaster.

It was Ginny who had run into the framework and crashed and now she was gripping her swelling wrist, blood rushing to colour the pulse in her arm and steadily rising across the freckles on her face so that her spirited expression began to blend with her hair. Along with pain and humiliation, out of her mouth sprung the anger of relief.

“What do you think you’re doing, you dolt!?”

“I’m sorry-“ was already tripping off Hermione’s tongue as she edged off towards her friend.

“You could have been killed, you idiot!”

“Ginny, I didn’t mean-“

“Didn’t mean what? To get killed!? Nobody plans for that!” The words were spinning rapidly out of control and the tightly bunched folds over Ginny’s eyes were beginning to leak with frustration. “ _ Think  _ a little next time! You might have thought you were some yippee-Tarzan up there but this ain’t some bloody Disney stint. What if you’d fallen and broken your neck? What then?”

“Ginny, I’m  _ trying  _ to tell you that it was fine! I grew up in a jungle. This is as natural to me as breathing or walking on flat ground is to you. And whilst I’m sorry to have worried you-“

“Don’t you  _ get  _ it, Hermione?” What had started off as a powerful interruption faded into a squelching whine. “People break so easily and most of the time they can’t ever be fixed again. They’re never ever right. I don’t care if you’ve been at this farce for a day or a year or your whole bloody life. Why take the risk?”

She hissed through her teeth and shuffled away from Hermione as the girl slipped her weight away from the bars. Ginny’s frown pursed tighter and she continued on, more garbled for the beginnings of sobs.

“Why do any of them take the risk? There are safer things to do than run around a madhouse chasing down criminals. Than saving people from burning buildings. Than putting on a show from the middle of a bloody tightrope. Why risk it all… your life, your body, your family’s tears - all for just a few moments’ adrenaline? I don’t get it! Don’t they understand how worried I am about them? Don’t they realise how often I can’t bloody sleep at night because I wonder what would happen if the first time I hear about some life-changing accident is hours later when they’ve already been staring cold and lonely into-  _ into the bowels of hospitalised regret?  _ ” Sobbing turned to whimpers as the redhead began to curl up on herself - crouching towards the firm blue floor of the gym. Only now did she let Hermione embrace her and allow herself to covet the peace of the other girl’s shushing.

“Don’t they-?” Hiccup. “How can’t they just  _ see-?  _ ” A latch on the throat. A cough. “Don’t they know how much I love them all…?”

Hermione felt lost. She didn’t think what she’d done had deserved a tirade but she could tell that that wasn’t the real problem at hand. She was lost because she didn’t know what  _ was  _ .

The delicate silence from the girls around the huddling twosome was broken by a rapid increase in mumblings and hushed whispers of conspiracies and derogatory words. Over the past few days, Hermione had come to realise that whilst people weren’t bad, they weren’t all good either, and whilst she desperately wanted to believe that the group of giggling girls who had followed her eccentricities for a fortnight were perfectly lovely, numerous events and hours of Ginny’s down to Earth commentary which had gradually been stacking up told her otherwise.

Hermione was lost, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know what to do. In fact, she knew precisely what her first step should be. To make sure that this hideous trend of petty hatred was stopped. If she was even partly responsible for Ginny’s outburst, she had a responsibility to make it up to her. Minnie had never let her get off without paying her debts and she firmly believed that she shouldn’t start avoiding them now.

“Quiet,” she hushed. Then louder. “I said  _ be quiet!  _ Your comments are the last thing Ginny needs right now.”

A door swung open and Romilda stretched around to ask with a cold and piercing expression, “Weren’t you the cause of all of this? You should be the one to fix it. Don’t start attacking us.”

Hermione’s chin dragged towards her new target, burying the sniffling redhead who had obviously tuned out further into her chest.

“Romilda.” She breathed firmly but gently. “Don’t misunderstand. I know perfectly well where the responsibility lies. I’m far from a fool, despite what you might think of me. I know that I did something to upset one of my dearest friends and rest assured  _ I will do whatever I must to make it up to her _ . But the biggest problems in the world stand so unassumingly sturdily because of the sheer number of unintentional harm created by those who have nothing to do with anything at all. Everyone here knows Ginny,” Hermione paused to look the nearest girls in the eye individually, “And I don’t believe for a moment that any of you could deny her passion and loyalty. If I know that after only two weeks, then you all most certainly know it too. Ginny is an amazingly strong person and this- this tearing each other down - it’s fruitless! A moment’s weakness and suddenly all the hard work you’ve put in to be the reliable front against adversity doesn’t matter at all? That’s a load of old parrot dung!”

Hermione billowed out noisily and continued, “I didn’t want to believe Ginny when she told me about the way this society seems to work. I still don’t. And I won’t. This- this _ bitchiness  _ which I never knew existed but which seems to reign supreme is nothing but destructive. And... if I can do nothing else, I will make sure that my dear friend who refuses to be a part of such a system doesn’t have to be a victim of it when she’s not in a position to defend herself.”

By the time she’d finished, Hermione was out of breath and was trembling ever so slightly. It had been a very long time since she’d poured her heart out like this. Perhaps even not since Mustafa died. She glanced down at her friend and saw that Ginny had cried herself into a fitful sleep, clutching tightly at the fabric of Hermione’s blouse. No wonder she hadn’t valiantly attempted to butt in with more. That thought made Hermione fear that she hadn’t done enough - that the girls around her wouldn’t listen. The murmuring from the Patils drifted in from the isolated entrance hall where the twins couldn’t be seen. Romilda’s expression didn’t seem to have changed but Hermione saw a tension in her jaw where before there hadn’t been one. Hermione was also afraid that perhaps she had said too much, just like Ginny had always warned against doing. Had she in fact just made things worse? Was Romilda- no, were all the girls going to acquiesce or attack?

Crack.

Then another crack.

Heads spun towards the sound and the two schoolgirls which had engaged each other in opposition slowly followed the rest, preserving eye contact for as long as possible.

Crack.

The brutal sound of applause came from the hands of the mouse who had barely scurried by for the past three years and who had chosen  _ now  _ to make her move. Her puckered lips reveled in determination to confront the Georgian girl whose words had tormented her for years, and to confront the words themselves. She couldn’t get over the past as instantly as Ginny had suggested, but she was more than willing to listen to reason. She was more than willing to stand up and defend the two brave young women who were her role models. And to treasure Hermione’s desire to direct anger towards words and not people. And so her lips clenched tighter, because now poor little Hannah Abbott had someone she was willing to fight for. She now had a friend called Hermione Granger.

 

X-X-X

 

“You can’t be serious!”

“Of course I’m Sirius.” The rugged man smirked from his new found perch.

“Now is not the time for jokes!”

The other man didn’t flinch or give any indication he had heard his friend.

“Oh? But this is such good news. I can’t be anything but happy.”

“I don’t see how this is supposed to make me happy,” growled Frank.

“Don’t you? But it’s so very obvious. And I thought you’d be proud of me for making use of my head for once. Aren’t you always going on about how I should stop following my feelings?” He sneered. “Following my heart?”

“You  _ have  _ no heart. It’s rotted away for over a decade and you’ve neither salvaged it not put it to rest. For shame! Revenge has turned you from a human to a monster-”

“I have always been a monster, Frank.” Sirius’ eyes narrowed in deadly focus, spying his friend with the certainty of a killer which hadn’t resurfaced for many years. The famed assassin had worked as he always had but his flair has dulled to the point of static survival rather than life. Frank had loved and lost the man to himself and his vengeance. He had hoped, at least, that his friend would pass the rest of his life and then the eternity after that without finding the poisonous hope which would combine his former glory with the ugly power which could only be summoned through hatred. He had chosen the wrong star to wish on though. Sirius was no longer a deadly vulture - surviving on the bodies of others - he was now, once again, a killer as brutal as a pack of pitch-black wolves.

“I met with a boy only yesterday. Of course he was not foolish enough to give me his name but I have found that palace servants in this country have the inability to smell any way other than what they do.”

Frank paled further. He had not heard his friend speak of the Royal Household since he had taken one of the Royal Guards as his lover. Frank swallowed the bile of jealously bitterly. But worse than that, another thought froze him still.

“He will certainly be of more use to me than any guard I’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.” Sirius leered unaffected by Frank’s silence, “It is obvious that his master is close enough to the Royals themselves to know how to dispose of them.”

Not good. Not good. Panic blared to life in Frank’s ears. He couldn’t... He wouldn’t! If Sirius touched a Royal he would have the whole nation out for his blood, reputation or not.

“Sirius. What are you thinking…? You can’t be serious...”

Sirius smirked. “I’ve already assured you I am.” The assassin turned to face his friend and spoke once more with finality. “A king or two are a noble sacrifice for my duty. After all, trying to steal the brat from under his nose has never worked until now. No. Stealing from Tom Prince shall get you nowhere if you’re lucky, and dead if you’re not. Attacking him directly is the only option left. And how better to do it than in this famed country where the Sun shone on him and gave him all the fortune the Gods could ever have brought a single man.”

Frank gulped.

“I told you I would make him pay, Longbottom. And now, it’s time to make him.”

 

X-X-X

 

“How is she?” Asked Hannah.

“Alright. She’s still asleep. I covered her with a bunch of towels I found so between those and the nice weather, I doubt she’ll get cold. She won’t of heard me, but I promised I’d be back soon. Adrian’s keeping an eye on her at the moment, although of course he doesn’t really understand what happened.”

“Do you?”

Hermione shook her head. “I only wish I did. She seemed perfectly okay until it happened. I don’t even know if it was because of me or if I just triggered it. She seemed to end up in a haze or maybe even a dream despite being awake - she didn’t make a lot of sense. A few days ago when we were talking, it came up that she had a big family but she rarely gets to see a lot of them. Do you think some of them are in the police or the army?”

It was Hannah’s turn to decline.

“I-” The two blond plaits over her ears twitched around to face the wall. “I know I probably shouldn’t have done what I did earlier but... I just could stop myself and before I knew it I was- I was…”

Hermione smiled and took the girl’s hands in hers and said softly, “No, I should be thanking you so please don’t think you were out of line. I might not know all of the customs here in England, or even here in school - but I do know that not all traditions are good, and that censoring yourself in order to repeat the silence which the past has told you was right is never a good thing when your words can make a world of difference. And… and as I said earlier. I believe you need to think the same way about the inverse of that too.”

A dim smile glanced onto both sets of lips and the two slowly rose from their bench, Hermione asking Hannah if she wanted to have lunch with her, to which the other girl agreed.

When they slid in past the door to their form room, quiet embraced them. It wasn’t stiff and daunting but it wasn’t the easy breeze of a summer’s day either. When the two girls moved past the gaggle by the door, they saw why. Crowded over Hermione’s table sat the three trouble-makers: Romilda, Padma and Parvati. The twins smiled nervously as the pair approached and Hannah felt as though their expressions were embedded in her palpitating heart. She’d done her brave deed for the day. She didn’t know if she could handle another confrontation. She glanced at Hermione hoping to follow her lead.

The girl in question simply plopped down and pulled out her lunch, snapping the lid open and revealing a set of plush ruby fruits. Hannah doubted she’d ever seen strawberries quite as ripe as that. There may have been a tub-full, but still - were just strawberries enough? Hannah took a moment to glance at Hermione. She was pretty slim. Perhaps fruit really  _ was  _ all she ate. Hannah pushed down the jealousy swiftly with the heavy weight of her respect.

“I-Is that all you’re eating?” She ventured.

“Yup!” A popped ‘p’ with a popping candy smile, almost as though the events which had depressed her only moments before walking through the door had never transpired.

“I guess you must like them then, if you can eat that many…” Hannah wasn’t sure what to do, but following Hermione’s lead seemed to entail extending the conversation, however pointlessly, onwards.

“Mhm. I’ve always had my menu chosen for me, except when I used to sneak out for snacks, of course. So I decided that I’d try something new each day rather than following what seems to be the pattern of sandwiches day in, day out. When Ginny wakes up, you can ask her to recreate the ghoulish face she pulled last week when she saw, or rather smelt, that the day’s food was marmite. After a whole tub full, I’ll admit I was really rather inclined to agree with her.” It drew out a puff of a giggle but more than anything else, it just served to remind Hannah about Ginny.

“Granger.”

Hannah paused. Romilda didn’t speak again for another few seconds.

“Granger. I don’t know how to begin.” A deep breath. “Heck, I don’t even know what I want to say. I guess… There’s a bunch of things I should be sorry for, like trying to play favourites when you first showed up, especially if you really hate it that much. Then there’s… also some other stuff, so-”

Sharp incisors bit into the supple flesh of a ruby fruit and Romilda’s lips came up around the strawberry tip to engulf the dribbling liquid. Surprise grasped at her features, her hands coming up to save her from an unsightly mess. The twins either side of her cranked into tension as they confused themselves in an internal monologue. Hannah had the brief impression that Hermione had done something dreadfully cruel by suffocating what might well have been one of the rarest apologies on Earth. Even Hannah could see the difficulty with which it was being pressed out.

But then a chink of light settled beyond Hermione’s eyes and as her empty fingers were retracted back towards her, they redirected to pull Romilda’s hands into her own, fruit be damned, and said simply, “It’s alright. It’s all in the past, isn’t it?” Before leaning forward in an awkward embrace and whispering something else into the bully’s ear. For those close by, it sounded something like “Just knowing is enough,” to which the onlookers smiled in relief. And then the two lionesses unlocked and happily grimaced from satisfied resolution before continuing to eat their lunch in peace. Even the soggy plop of red and green falling away from Romilda’s mouth couldn’t ruin the moment.

 

X-X-X

 

“Tom, can you really justify this?”

“I have to.”

“But it’ll be far more dangerous for her now.”

“We thought we had all the variables under control. We didn’t and that’s my fault.”

“So she should suffer the brunt of it?”

“ _ Tony… _ ” Tom growled warningly.

“Don’t you ‘Tony’ me, Tom. What good would I be to you if I didn’t point these things out? We should have realised that the two groups could and would unite but now we need to make logical decisions rather than being  _ stubborn-headed,  _ ” Anthony looked at his friend poignantly, “and ploughing on regardless.”

Tom huffed. “I am not ‘ploughing on regardless’. I’ve already given it plenty of thought and concluded that this way is the only way which would allow us to continue without being too late.”

Anthony gave him a look which seemed to accumulate all the times doubt had bloomed over his features during the past two decades. His boss was a stubborn man and the man showed him that in the privacy of their friendship the metaphorical ass displayed itself in other traits too.

The two continued to debate what to do. Or rather the finer details. Anthony was not unaccustomed to the sheer volume of air he exhaled through sighing on a daily basis thanks to this man he called his friend. A criminal mastermind with a mass murderer. Hermione stood little chance of success, but she was the pride and honour of his dear friend. And she would succeed. He knew it.

...And if she let him, he would take up the role of a parent and show her his love for her. First though, he had to make her father see reason to one plea he would soon make. One which would stake his heart above all else. Soon. Soon but not yet.

 

X-X-X

 

Ginny woke up with a start, her friend’s name on her lips. Or it would have been if not for the garbled constriction of her throat’s disuse. Finding herself on a bed, she tried to sit up, shifting slowly, when she noticed the weight of Adrian’s head pressing into her thigh. It seemed like they’d both been asleep. Although why on Earth that was the case was another matter.

“Hey, Pucey.” She shuffled further so that she sat up, the mismatched towels covering her chest falling down to softly thump over the boy’s head. He groaned.

“Wha--?”

“Yo. Pucey. What’s going on?” Half hiss, half whisper.

He rose sleepily and looked at the flaming girl. Some other day he might have been intimidated, but for the moment he had greater concerns. Like not letting Ginny lean of that arm of hers.

“Hi, Gin. Er- You’re not allowed to put weight on that for now,” He said, leaning out to pull her wrist to him. It dislodged easily enough as Ginny shifted her weight again, able to sit up properly now.

“How much do you remember?” He asked softly. The question confused Ginny as she tried to think back. She could remember skiving class, and then truth or dare, and then things got a little blurry. Had she hit her head too? But no, her wrist seemed to be the only point throbbing as it pulsed steadily under a tight bandage. Wait.

Ginny gasped as she remembered. The fall, her crash, and then her shouting. God. What on Earth had she done? Hermione didn’t deserve that. Christ. And she’d brought up something completely irrelevant. She wouldn’t be surprised if Hermione had a bone to pick with her now. She wasn’t trying to guilt trip her friend into an apology… She could only have faith in Hermione’s character and hope that she hadn’t messed things up entirely. She had to go and see her.

“Oi, Ginny! Where d’you think you’re going. ‘Mione told me not to let you move if you woke up.”

“I have to go and see her.”

“She’ll be coming here right after she’s had some lunch.”

“But what if she doesn’t? I need to go to her. Make sure she knows-”

“Gin, calm down. I don’t know what you’re worried about. But I know that ‘Mione is real worried about you. So do her a favour and stay put, yeah? If you want, I’ll even go get her for you now. She’ll be thrilled to know you’re alright.”

“I wouldn’t want to stop her having lunch.”

“Oh give it a rest, Gin. We both know a bit of food doesn’t matter to her. You’re by far her priority. Where’s the Ginny I know? That little lioness that’s always standing up for what’s right. I think we need to bring her back before you can go and face the world again. I heard ‘Mione did a pretty damn good job of defending your honour whilst you were knocked out, so do your part and sit still until I bring her over, kay?”

If Ginny hadn’t been left wondering over his words, she might have resisted more. But as it was, Adrian slipped out of the unstaffed nurse’s office and left her in relative silence. The girl’s buzzing thoughts and the slight hum of the younger years playing sports outside were her only company.

 

X-X-X

 

Raginala had risen into the modern world from its ancient roots over two generations. The previous king had built much of the current infrastructure and had been keen on preserving the country’s culture in the face of adversity. His ardent labour was the only reason why such a traditional culture had yet to be branded with the titles of regressive and misogynistic. The current king had aided his father’s mission by developing as many treaties with foreign nations as possible in order to secure the country’s future beyond the flickering wish of a Royal. Together their work had forged a nation which still stood proud and mighty and strong. Problems were unavoidable though. Every country and culture clashed with the contradictions of its birth and Raginala could be no different. In a land where Gods were believed to be born inside Royals, the black wealth of oil was as slippery and secure as every politician the world had ever seen. It was entirely possible that in yet another generation, these precious notions of harmony and the Gods would be lost and the country would drown in the grimy ink of its new wealth.

Karkaroff. The name had reigned supreme in the vast steel of the country only a generation ago. Things had changed quickly when Prince had stolen from them their right to the land with the most oil. The promise of further wealth was sure to be made to the highest bidder, and yet Prince had swooped in as though he was a Prince of the very nation itself and claimed the land with the lowest bid. Viktor’s father had never forgiven the man. Viktor had never bothered suggesting he felt otherwise.

What had drowned the young man in despair only a year ago had also given him a glimpse of the fortune and hope which Prince had seen on that fateful day. Site Watson offered him an even better solution to his naive morality. It would be difficult to usurp his father now that he had regained so much control. But Viktor was his son after all. He wouldn’t be outdone. He had expanded the company so much in the time it had been under his control and he had been able to annex his increase from his delusional family. Site Watson was more than just a figurehead for his father’s plans. It would be the queen on his chessboard. Let his white queen make use of her head start. Over the past months he had been shuffling his pawns around, but after his father had announced the outcomes of his most recent meetings, Viktor decided that he needed to give his new lady her first go.

 

X-X-X

 

“‘Mione! Where are you, ‘Mione?” A voice burning with renewed vigour.

“Oh, for goodness sake. I told her to wait-” Adrian’s voice conveyed frustration, but Hermione could see his apologetic frown was full of affection for the redhead. She grasped his hand and gave him a nod that she’d go and handle Ginny. He hovered a little as she left, watching the door for any sounds which might creep through and indicate he might be needed. He couldn’t prevent the onset of worry and he began to tremble from the nerves of potential. Then a tanned hand grasped hold of the shirt wrapped around his ribs and tugged  _ hard  _ , pulling him down into Hermione’s vacated seat. It was Romilda.

“You’re not helping anyone with your hovering. Just stay put. If they need you, they’ll call.”

Adrian obeyed. He hadn’t really understood what was going on over the past couple of weeks, but even he had to admit that there seemed to be some sort of tension between the new and the old ‘queens’. He hadn’t thought about Hermione and Romilda that way, but maybe that’s the way all girls saw things. Ginny, at least, seemed to view the school through the lens of civil war and good and evil and victimised villains and all sorts of other improbable things. She was a true warrior at heart. He smiled. And that just made her all the more adorable in his books.

“How’s the redhead doing then?”

“Not too bad actually. Looks like she remembers most of whatever it was that happened. Why are none of you telling us guys the details anyway?”

“It’s cause-” Parvati tried to pop up, but a glance from Romilda silenced her.

“Just live with it, alright?” The Georgian finished.

Adrian heaved a sigh and glanced out of the window before looking back at the congregation. He didn’t think he’d see Romilda sitting at Hermione’s table again after whatever fight it was that they’d had, but more than that, he never thought he’d see little miss mouse there too. He’d always assumed the blonde girl just wanted to be left alone. He wondered why the change of heart.

After a few more seconds he heard Ginny loudly suck in air to call out again when a surprise squeak escaped her instead, and then the laughter of two close friends travelled down the corridor to reassure the group left crowded around a little wooden table.

 

X-X-X

 

A squeak. Ginny’s call was cut short by the tight embrace of Hermione as the other girl powered around the corner.

“Ginny! What are you doing out of bed? My god, I’m so glad you’re okay…” Hermione slowed down, looking at Ginny’s wrist to make sure it didn’t look too awful.

“Hey! I’m fine. I’m fine on my feet. I’m fine in my head-” Hermione glanced at her doubtfully.

“Oh. Right. Yeah, sorry ‘bout that…” She was going to continue but then her friend pulled her in for another hug and then tugged on her hand, guiding her towards to door.

“Let’s talk outside, alright? I don’t think this is something you want half the school listening in on.”

Ginny acquiesced and so the two slowly made their way to the shadowy cover of a bench tucked into a long-abandoned concrete crevice. Whilst she was being led there, for it had been Ginny who had chosen the spot, Hermione learned that the building they were about to rest their heads on had once been a science lab - and a half decent one at that.

“But then one day,  _ surprise surprise.  _ My dear brother decided that he didn’t like the boring old science they were teaching, and he’d far rather build a flamethrower than use a bunsen burner… and it’s entirely possibly that over the next few weeks he actually then.”

Hermione laughed cheerfully.

“You mean to tell me that he’s the pyromaniac I’ve heard the guys gossiping about?” She said gesturing with her chin to the scorched concrete behind Ginny’s head.

“Yeaa-hahaha. I was ill that day but I don’t think I’ll ever forget the moment I woke up to hear mum shriek down the line: ‘What do you  _ mean  _ , he’s blown up the school!?’ It was bloody brilliant, it was.”

Hermione suddenly had a vision of a boy, not much older than Ginny, with flaming hair and freckles left right and centre, covered in ash and the debris of some victimised experiments sitting on his scorched eyebrows. The sight almost felt familiar, but Hermione couldn’t put her finger on it. Perhaps the Ginny before her now was just that meldable. Her defined jaw could easily have been a man’s and her bold nose which broke through the feeble posturing of her peers could have led legions into battle on the long-dead horses of the middle ages.

“Hah. But… I guess you’re waiting for an explanation about earlier, aren’t you?”

Hermione would have butted in and assured her that  _ no she really wasn’t  _ , but Ginny’s face had the same somber tone as the maids on her island who would visit the various temples in order to confess. Out of guilt or just to be heard. Hermione confirmed to herself that she would step in if Ginny felt the former, but decided it would be best to be quiet in case it was the latter.

“I- I wasn’t really all that close with anyone here until you turned up. So, it’s not exactly like anyone ‘round here had any reason to know. But I- I guess my family’s in a bit of tight spot at the moment. Or rather they have been for a while. I’ll admit that it’s kinda my parents’ fault - and don’t get me wrong - there was a time I really hated them for it. But now, now I just get on with it. I told you before, I have a bunch of brothers. Reason why is ‘cause the pill never worked for mum and the both of them grew up in a place where protection wasn’t really talked about. They didn’t want to listen to anyone who tried to give them advice about it though. They just got all uppity and then we’d all have to suffer through their moods. It was kinda a blessing when mum couldn’t have anymore kids actually. And I think she was pretty happy in the end because she finally had a daughter.”

Ginny smiled and took another deep breath, gearing up for something even closer to her heart.

“Thing is though. Whilst the family got bigger, our wallets didn’t and so it seemed like we had less and less. And whilst I love all the little twats I call my brothers, there’s always been something we had to do without and when tensions ran high because of school or when dad lost his job - it seemed almost impossible. Percy probably had the worst of it ‘cause even though he got all the nicest stuff, being the clever one and all, we never really got to see him, and all he got from us was pressure to do well and be the savior for our family. And then he had a breakdown. We felt so guilty and we didn’t think we could get even more depressed than we were - but we did.”

A sniffle. Ginny’s eyes were starting to burn from the effort it took to protect her pride. Hermione wanted so desperately to bring her into an embrace. But both of them needed to hear the words out loud. For Ginny to accept her feelings and for Hermione to understand them. Another deep breath.

“But we couldn’t stay down forever, could we now? The boys went off and got jobs - even I did for a while too. But the only work around here is physical labour or retail. Remember me saying ‘bout mum wanting a girl? Well she stepped in and said I couldn’t go out and do the physical stuff my brothers were doing - protecting me and all. I was only, what, eleven at the time. So in my conceited little mind I didn’t understand why I couldn’t go out and help the family. With them working I barely saw any of them too. Mum was out most of the time, and then dad found another job too. So it was just me and the Creevys in the house - you know, my cousins. Maybe mum thought it was my job to step up as the woman in the house which explains why she wasn’t too happy when I found a job in retail I could do. Of course, it paid terribly and it was only a few hours, but at least I felt like I was helping a little. I wouldn’t have minded staying there. But then one day there was this big burly bloke who came in and ruined it. He made a grab for me and I honestly think he might have dragged me off and- and...  _ raped me  _ if mum hadn’t been paying me a visit and clomped him over the head with her ten ton handbag. Ah... suffice to say, I didn’t go back there again.”

A smile but not one which said ‘I’m done’. So Hermione shifted to the side, freeing her legs from under her and shuffling closer. Ginny had tentatively asked her a few days ago whether or not Hermione knew about ’the birds and the bees’ as she’d called it. Despite momentary confusion, Hermione assured her friend she wasn’t that naive, but rather the religion on her island believed that thinking and saying and doing bad things would set free the evil spirits of the world which is why, even though all her tutors spoke perfect English, Hermione had never had any exposure to the corruption of honest expression - also known as swearing and crude comments. Hermione was glad that they’d had the talk, despite the blushes on both their faces at the time, because now Hermione truly felt the bond between them grow further as she imagined the repulsion and horror of the crime which could have been committed had fortune not protected her friend. Ginny had summarised it in a word. The cutting and harsh act of “rape”. But to Hermione, the scene played out on a continuous reel, over-layed with the strong features of her friend’s current expression - her tightened jaw and throbbing pulse, taut in an effort to compel courage to her voice.

“But life went on and then the twins joined a circus and because they were the most devilish twosome the world had ever seen, they were brilliant at it. And Bill joined the police and heck, he’s doing so well and we’re all proud of him. When he comes home he always has stories to tell us about his day and he’s been getting some good promotions recently. And then there’s Charlie. He joined the local firefighters. It was hilarious when he told us over supper though. He looked real nervous ‘cause it was the same day the other stupid twat got his eyebrows fried off whilst blowing up the school and mum’s glaring made it almost impossible to break the silence of shame she’d imposed. I could literally see his neck twitching before he cleared his throat and told her. I was so surprised when instead of getting his head bitten off, mum actually burst out into a big booming laugh. It kinda sounded like forgiveness. Which it was with a few extra slaps around the ear for the idiot who looked like a sooty weasel that had been stuffed up through a pringles tube backwards. We thought it had to have been fate for Charlie to join when he did - protect his little brother from himself and all. Said little brother got banned from any job involving an open fire so he ended up going off to work with metal doing something he never told us about. I could tell he didn’t like it but he didn’t complain often enough to irritate us.

The bravery in the girl crumpled suddenly like paper being mashed in the first of a frustrated professor.

“But then you see, things started to get bad. The good money from all their hard work wasn’t worth it anymore. Or at least, not in my eyes. Fred had an accident. He fell off one of the trapezes one day and almost broke his neck. It was a practice so there was a mat underneath him - thank god! But… he had to go to hospital and we didn’t know if her would make it. And the fuckin’ geezer who owned the bloody circus was more worried about who’d replace the my brilliant brother than how to save his most precious performer! George just stormed out of there. And I didn’t blame him one bit. Screw the geezer and screw the job! When Fred woke up, I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone cry as much as George did. The relief, the anger, the sadness, the regret, the lingering fear… Fred got better. But now it’s super easy for him to put his back out and he’s more subdued. And so’s George. They’re both studying to be engineers now. Some other way to get up to their tricks. But safer - thankfully.”

A sniff that was more of a snort and then she plunged on again. Undeniable and admirable in equal measure.

“I wish that was the end. But it isn’t. Bill’s been coming home with more than just scratches and bruises recently. And then Charlie ended up saving a bunch of people from a burning hospital not too long ago and had to wait five hours to get treatment at the next nearest one for the deep burns he’d got saving other people before himself! And then… that bloody pyromaniac of a brother got sick of working his boring old job and decided to take a post with some rich family or other as a bodyguard. I would be accusing him of only doing it because he gets to play with weapons like they’re toys, except after he dropped out of school he looked like a man twice his age and not the brat I knew. So I guess he was ready for the job. But.. can you blame me for worrying about them all? And they don’t listen to me when I tell them how I feel. And I don’t even put my heart into it anymore because I know they won’t listen because they know they have to do it. To help the family. And. And so I guess… I just shut up. And that’s how I help the family too.” She finished in a whisper.

A sniffle. And then a sob. And then Hermione watched the dams finally break before engulfing her best friend in the tightest embrace she could muster and felt humbled and awed by the fact she was friends with a girl as brave and as strong as red-haired Ginny Walsh.

X-X-X

 

“I couldn’t bloody believe it!”

Neither could Adrian. Dean’s story or their little congregation. His friend wasn’t known to be the most truthful of people - but in the very least his stories were generally funny and the little lies he told were worth the laughter he got in return. In all the time he’d know the guy, he could count on one hand the number of times the boy had managed to upset someone.

“How on Earth did he even get away with it?” Asked Parvati.

“I bet he didn’t.” Added her sister.

Dean kept expanding his narrative. Seemingly the garage he worked at had had a “little problem” with a motorcycle gang recently. Adrian didn’t think there were even that many of them anymore. But he supposed it would only be even scarier to have a dozen odd burly hangers-on with greasy balding patches and tattooed middle-aged flesh flashing from under tattered leather than the puny punks with neon hair which sniffed around their school on their daily taunt trail. Adrian allowed himself a shiver of disgust. It looked like Romilda was imagining the same thing.

“Well he would ‘ave done, ‘cept Dylan - he’s kinda the landlord - watched the whole thing happen! So while Ernie an’ I were busy tryin’ our best to put the bloody fire out, he managed to call the cops. I almost felt sorry for the guy, y’know. His so-called mateys all drove off at the sight of the bogies. So much for appreciation. I’d’ve thought Hell’s fire was enough to deserve at least a little loyalty!”

“Careful, Thomas. Makes it sound like you were  _ enjoying  _ it.”

The boy spluttered and then retorted, “‘Course not! I was the one stuck in the flippin’ pyre! I-”

“You gotta admit she has a point though, man!” Seamus was cackling away in his chair. He’d actually been the first to hear the story but he’d had the visuals to go with it. He’d admitted to Adrian that it hadn’t been a gang but some lonesome pyromaniac who’d blown the place up. But still - Dean’s currently half shaved head covered the truth of the cinder-shaped holes in his hair with which Seamus had found him over the weekend. Dean’s panic-stricken face when he’d heard the growling sound of Seamus riding in on the back of his brother’s bike had apparently been priceless - so priceless that the Irish boy was the one laughing loudest at Dean’s tale, despite being the one to have heard it most often.

“Did- did anyone get hurt?” Hannah’s voice was quiet, as though she didn’t really have the confidence to participate and fully expected to be over-ruled.

“Nah… Other than how stupid Dean looke-”

“Oi! Shut up, Seamus!”

Romilda indulged in a low-pitched laugh whilst the other three girls giggled prettily. Adrian looked sideways at the two guys who’d joined the table under the pretense of playing cards. No cards in sight. But pretty girls were. It was no secret among the guys who fancied who. Of course, almost every girl in their year had something attractive about her, and the guys wouldn’t be guys if they didn’t all have a thing for the three, or rather now, four beauties which Ginny always obsessed about: the Patils, Romilda and, of course, Hermione. In fact, if so much as one of them did something even a little erotic or sensual the mental capacities of the male populace was instantly looking for an escape route for their embarrassment.

But what the girls usually overlooked was that they also had individual crushes. And Adrian couldn’t help feeling happy for the lads as both Seamus and Dean blushed a little at having the attention of Romilda and Hannah. He could understand why Dean was too scared to approach Romilda - after all she had always had the attitude of “I could do better”, but Seamus… he’d had every opportunity to go over there and try and make the blonde mouse smile with his brogue. Or maybe, he reconsidered, her reserved attitude made her an even harder target than Romilda.

Adrian thought that the two of them probably couldn’t believe their luck when both girls were looking personable, and together! It meant there could be male strength in numbers so they didn’t back out of trying to chat their crushes up and it guaranteed the safety net of an elbow in the ribs when they messed up so that they knew to put it right immediately.

Adrian laid back. He didn’t know what had changed. What had shifted. But he did know it was because of Hermione. And he could see the impacts of her stay. He might never quite understand, but he could at least try to find out.

“Hey, er- Romilda. I actually was wondering why you suddenly started calling us by our last names - is it, y’know, something that’s ‘in’ right now?”

The brief wide-eyed surprise at being addressed turned into a frown and then a derisive snort.

“‘Course not. What sort of stupid trend would that be? I just realised after all this time that I don’t really like any of you and until you make me think differently, I don’t see why I should pretend.”

Ouch. Dean paled a little despite his dark complexion. Well at least the cat was out of the bag - kinda. And maybe it’d be better for Romilda to be openly hostile rather than bitchy… it might actually be the best thing yet.

The twins next to Romilda looked a little stunned and teetering on the edge of being unsure. Did Romilda really not like them? Hannah meanwhile looked far from betrayed - rather just fearful of Romilda in general. Did they share some sort of history? Adrian was left wondering.

Romilda stood up and addressed the girls. “Come on, Partvati, Padma. I think we’d be best to spend the rest of lunch outside.” The twins looked a little reassured that they hadn’t been degraded into ‘the Patils’ - although, Adrian had to admit guiltily, that was probably the way most everyone apart from Romilda saw them. Maybe the lioness was actually really caring at heart?

“What are you waiting for Hannah, come on!”

It might have sounded like an order to some, but the relief which besieged the girl’s face as she sprung up from her crumpled defence was awe-inspiring and couldn't be denied. She soon scurried out of the room, leaving the three boys behind.

“What the Hell, man? I thought we’d have more of a chance if we joined you - not less of one!” Dean groaned. Seamus still looked pink in the cheeks from getting to hear Hannah speak. Her voice had a melodic quality to it, and perhaps it could even have been described as a tinkle. Adrian could understand his friend’s enamourment.

“Don’t be so down. She called the girls by their names, right? It just means she’ll stop leading you on and actually treat you like a human being for a change.” Adrian tried to reassure Dean but he couldn't resist teasing him either. “Once you show her you  _ are  _ one and not just a pervert, that is.”

“ _ Oi! _ ”

 

X-X-X

 

Running like this was exhilarating. Hermione never thought she’d be dashing to avoid being late for class. She’d always studied hard before and whilst everyone in the school, Ginny included, seemed to think her intelligence was a miracle feat, it was actually a lot of hours of spent working hard and pouring over books. She’d mastered medicine after a lot of physical reminders of its usefulness post falling off trees but she still couldn’t do basic things such as cook to save her life! When she’d got lost on the island after going on an adventure with Draco and Mustafa, she’d relied on the boy to make them something edible because he refused to try any more of her “cooking”. And that’s what made this dash even more thrilling. She was going to be late to food tech of all things!

Ginny was looking to be in a little bit of pain though.

“Ginny?”

“Yeah?” She wheezed out. Hermione slowed down, forcing the other girl to as well.

“Is your arm hurting you?”

“No more than earlier, but I think I may have bruised a bone in my legs though-oof!”

Ginny fell backward, landing hard on the base of her spine. She let out an ungainly yelp and Hermione kneeled down next to her, fretting over her existing injuries, before an anger overtook her. She glared up at the girl who’d run into them. The unknown face was clearly older than them but Hermione didn’t feel daunted. The sneer of the girl who’d been in such a rush before seemed to have become her new priority.

“Well well well. Who do we have here? If it isn’t the ginger slut.”

Ginny glanced up from her wincing and froze. Her features instantly schooled themselves into cold submission and she simply said, “Get lost, Lavender.”

Hermione stood up suddenly and said, “Apologise.”

A surprised pause.

“Huh? What did you just say to me?”

“I said, apologise.”

“‘Mione, it’s not worth it.”

“Of course it’s worth it. I doesn’t matter who it is, the person in the wrong should apologise. She was the one who ran into you and then insulted you.” Hermione hadn’t looked away from Lavender, and whether it was the firm stare which gave away nothing but ultimate resolve or that fact that the three girls were still going to be late for class, Ginny didn’t know, but the bitchy upper year ran on past them without another insult, only hissing menacingly, “I’ll get you for this.”

Hermione stood still until the older girl had jogged on around the next corner, breasts bouncing violently and lips curling in defiance. Hermione then bent down and helped her friend up before walking the remaining couple of corridors to food tech where the teacher was about to have a go at them until Hermione smiled apologetically and explained their tardiness in a sweet voice that Mr Roche couldn’t undermine.

The newly-formed rag-tag group of four girls and three guys welcomed them over to the large cubicle they were all sharing. Apparently today they were making crepes. After the difficult day, Ginny gave a sigh of happiness and admitted, “My favourite.”

 

X-X-X

 

He was going grey. There was no point denying it. He would have blamed his father for all the stress he had caused him, but given that his mother had been grey at only twenty-five, it was no surprise that he had a poor gene pool to pick from. He could almost taste the irony in the way she had made the tokens of age appear beautiful, and for that she had been graced with an early death.  _ At least it was painless,  _ Viktor thought bitterly.

He had his skates grasped in one hand as he approached their private rink. He wanted to clear his thoughts and the cold comfort of the ice had always helped him before. Even when he crashed against its immovable mass, he would not burn in the flames of disaster. He would keep his head cold and stay focused. Maybe he was going white and not grey. Maybe he had simply started growing ice. His head was cold, and whilst his heart still roared with life, he feared that it would not belong before that froze too.

Site Watson had to pull through. He couldn’t go on otherwise.

 

X-X-X

 

Ginny was nominated as the person to present their creation.  _ “Creation” was certainly the right word,  _ thought Adrian. Ginny had tried to warn them not to let Hermione near the oven and so it wasn’t really fair that she was the one that had to present their mess to Mr Roche, but at the same time it was better for her to take it easy whilst the rest of them cleaned up their area. After Hermione had pointed it out, Adrian could also notice a slight limp in the redhead’s walk.

“Adrian?” Hermione beckoned him over to the sink and whispered to him conspiratorially, “When Ginny and I were walking over we bumped into a girl who said something pretty awful, and I realise that’s not anything odd around here but Ginny just seemed to ignore her. The Ginny I know wouldn't take that from anyone. Not even from Romilda when they went at each other. Is there… what I mean to say is - this girl, Lavender, Ginny called her… should I be concerned?”

Adrian knew Lavender pretty well. Pretty damn well. She had been an adorable girl, far closer to the girl-next-door than anything, and quite a few boys had mooned over her. She’d only ever been out with one guy though. And that one had happened to be Ginny’s brother. The pyromaniac. Adrian wasn’t sure why Hermione was asking him - had Ginny not wanted to talk about it? In that case, he really shouldn’t share either. But he also knew that Hermione was unlikely to go behind her friend’s back in something personal - Hell, whatever she’d apparently said during the mystery incident in the gym meant nobody was willing to talk about it. He concluded that the girl probably just didn’t want to disturb Ginny again. Others may have assumed that Ginny’s red eyes were from the physical pain, but Adrian had known the redhead for years and even when she’d broken her leg she hadn’t cried.

He decided to tell Hermione what he knew.

“... and because she was so, well, innocent, when her Prince Charming decided he was going to drop out of school she kind of just broke down. I think she’d fallen in love with the idea of the ginger menace. Brave and daring without being crude about other girls. And I think he had that sort of personality ‘cause he had Gin as a sister. She wouldn’t have stood for anything else. So when working and supporting his family turned out to be his greatest priority, she almost went into shock when she realised that he didn’t really love her all that much. She didn’t turn up to school for something like four months - there were actually rumors going ‘round that she’d been expelled - although nobody really believed those because of how lovely she’d been. That was, until she came back.”

Hermione caught Ginny looking over at the two of them curiously and Hermione nudged Adrian so that he’d stop for a while. When Mr Roche demanded the ginger’s attention again, Adrian finished his story up quite quickly.

“Ginny mentioned that Lavender had been over to their house a few times and each time she seemed to be a completely different person. First gothic, then nerdy, and when she finally turned up at school, she was just about the definition of a bimbo. I don’t like being rude about anyone, y’know, but now she just has the attitude of a self entitled princess. I think the relationship broke her and maybe she thinks she’s more attractive with her bleached hair and fake everything or maybe she thinks that sleeping around is rubbing something in both their ginger faces - but yeah, that’s why Ginny can’t really find it in her to be rude back. She knows it’s just Lavender’s misguided way of coping. I even think she’d try to help her find another way of moving on if Lavender hadn’t got violent the first time she’d tried.”

Adrian sighed and his grip on the towel in his hand tightened. Hermione reached out for his wrist and their eyes met. Then the boy exhaled deeply and Hermione loosened her grip when she felt the tension leave him. It wasn’t worth challenging Ginny’s decision on this. They both went back to their tidying duties, the conversation seeming to have gone unnoticed by their friends as the others had spent the time messing around making bubbles.

Hermione’s thoughts tilted and realigned as she mulled over what she’d learnt. Today seemed to be a day of confessions. Everything was pouring in and sliding together, and yet at the same time she was just as lost as before. She almost dropped the glass bowl back into the sink as her mind slipped over some details. She disguised it as poor grip and handed it over to Adrian. The troubling thing about all of this though, was that the eyes she had seen staring out of the tanned skull of the older girl earlier no longer looked depressed or vengeful. Instead, they looked like they belonged to someone else entirely. Someone altogether worse.

Hermione liked to believe that everyone was capable of good, but she had had Draco by her side long enough to know that often there would be a lot of bad to come before the good could shine through.

X-X-X

 

Ron had had enough.

He had heaved his lungs out past his ribs chasing after Hermione - first the ice rink, then the changing rooms, then the gym. He’d found no available puppets to ask to knock on the changing room door and so decided to cough himself half to death to disguise his voice. Even he wasn’t foolish enough to try to walk into a girls’ changing room. He’d knocked and asked out for Hermione, hoping she’d come alone. He envisaged her red-haired friend popping out with her as girls tended to do, and him having to jump behind a corner to stop himself being seen - which probably would have been even creepier, now that he thought about it. Instead, what he was met with was silence from behind the door and then some shuffling and light whispering which he expected was Hermione being questioned and then shuffling over.

Five minutes later, he realised that that hadn’t been it, and instead he’d had his muscles taut - ready to grab Hermione and flee or hide in a desperate attempt at the last possible second - all for nothing. The girls had gone through another door and now Hermione’s bleeps were marked as coming from the gym.

After a few seconds of leaning his head against the door in misery, Ron gathered himself and decided to detour to the other door to the vast hall. It would have looked suspicious to be coming in through the girls’ changing rooms and Hermione would have either pouted or slapped him over the head with something or other if he managed to upset her friends.

Fate didn’t seem to care about his efforts though as it turned out that the other door was just as dangerous an option. A jack-knife of sound buried itself in his jaw as he felt himself propelled back out of the gym by a cacophony of shrieking after having cautiously snuck open the door.

He slammed the door back into place as it made at least some sort of temporary blockade should the source of piercing screams decide to follow him out as vengeance for whatever innocent crime he had committed. Before the last chink of electric light disappeared though, he saw to his great horror that his charge, his friend,  _ Hermione, _ plummeted down from the metal echos of the trees of her past life. The only reason he didn’t go right back in was because the dull crash and shimmer of metal was nowhere near loud enough to have been a tragedy. His shaking limbs rooted him to the spot though, and he found himself unimaginably torn as to whether to screw it all and go in anyway. Was he right about the dull crash? He hoped he was.  _ But what if I’m wrong? _

Ron wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone how long he had stood there for. None of the girls came following him out and he could only hope that meant they were attending to Hermione. After a while his ears started to register the inflamed shouting of what he could only assume was Ginny before the flame of her voice died out and was replaced by the piercing voice he’d learnt belonged to Hermione. It seemed as though something else had happened and he hated that he didn’t understand. He stood there even longer - he stood until he heard the disjointed but undeniable sound of clapping and then the heave of school girls returning back to the changing rooms. That was the point at which Ron decided he should also leave.

A detour later - because he wouldn’t admit he could get lost - he was dumping himself, dirty, sweaty and exhausted, onto the backseat of the luxury car parked outside the school. Walter’s grimaces and toned look of worry almost settled his nerves as his rapidly-beating heart gradually began to calm down. Hours later, he was sure he’d be ready to have a real good talk with Hermione. He’s make sure to get his point across this time. One day or another she was going to have to realise how much she made the people around her worry. He had little hope, but just enough to pray that  _ it might just be today. _

Ron was ready when the school bell finished it’s jingle-jangle. It seemed too calm for the school it belonged to and it brought back the innocent memories of childhood.

Hermione was one of the first people out of the gate -  _ thank God  _ \- and she was alone -  _ perfect!  _ He dragged her into the car before she could make any sort of protest. In fact, she seemed to be rather occupied. After making the rapid request to Walter to drive, he paused and asked Hermione if she was alright. She relayed the events of the day to him, easing his worries just slightly when she revealed it had actually been Ginny who had been hurt (but not much) and saying that one of her brothers had come in specially to take her home halfway through fifth period. Apparently he’d finished work early and even though Ginny claimed she was fine, she looked exhausted enough for the teachers to let him drive her away.

Ron almost felt bad that he was going to give his charge a telling off. It was one thing if she was in a riotous mood after having been up to no good, but this…

“Ron,” she murmured quietly. She’d turned to look out the window as they passed by the trollops from the school Ron’s uniform belonged to and sped past the poor neighbourhood cats who still hadn’t figured out how to cross the road. “I’m sorry.”

He opened his mouth and almost couldn’t believe that he was about to try and distill her worries by saying it was nothing-

“I know I might be a bit naive sometimes but I saw it was you that came in earlier. There was a window above the door and from where I was I could hardly miss your hair. I know you must have been worried for me if you decided to sneak into school and- and I want to say thank you that you believed in me even when things got out of control. I was really worried you’d burst in and then I don’t know what I’d have done so, what I mean to say is, thank you for trusting me.” For the final words she had met his gaze and pulled a tight smile over her sorry face. She repeated again, “Thank you.” And Ron reached out and grasped her hand, squeezing it before leaning back in his seat, the cool leather soothing his headache and the rumble of the engine soothing both their nerves as Walter drove the rest of the way home.

Something had happened today and Ron could see that someone had already said to her the things he had planned to impart himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure every author will tell you, feedback is our life blood. So I would very much appreciate kudos and comments. :)


	4. Childhood Relinquished

“I don’t see the problem! Me walking home with Ginny is obviously bothering you and you’re the one saying I can’t take her to Paris-”

“ _ Well of course you can’t-!  _ ”

“So why can’t we just drive her home?”

This argument had been playing out in the backseat of the car for the last week. After the subdued truce called when the young girl’s friend had been hurt, Walter felt as though the dynamic had shifted. Hermione was still her buoyant self and Ron, bless his heart, was trying his hardest to keep her in line and safe. Like he should. But now at least Hermione would listen to logic she felt was sound and reasons she believed were acceptable. Bickering remained a staple part of their not so harmonious life though, and that was because Hermione  _ rarely  _ conceded that a reason was acceptable. Especially when said reason seemed to be, above all else, her bodyguard’s pride.

“ _ Please  _ ‘Mione. Just understand that I can’t be seen by your friends. They might know you’re rich and a little different but we gave you a false alias and we’re taking so many precautions for a reason!”

“To protect me. I. Know. But I don’t understand what having Ginny in the car is going to do to hinder you. Nothing’s happened to me so far, and even if it did - we’d be in a car. It’s not like you have to think about another person to protect-”

That was precisely what Ron was worried about.

“I think you just enjoy being the mysterious man working the magic from the shadows. But can’t you just let one person in on it? I’d swear her to secrecy if that’s what it’d take. I’m sure she’d even sign a contract if she had to! She’s utterly in love with the lifestyle and I want to give her something amazing. She’s the first friend I’ve had that I can call an equal. And I don’t know how long I have here. Dad said I had six months but I know that that could change. It could change so so easily. I want to make the most of the time I _ do  _ have!”

Hermione ran out of steam from her pleading and directed her gaze at Ron, her eyes flashing like a live wire in the light.

Walter cleared his throat to alert the two in the back that they had, in fact, arrive at the school gates. Hermione grabbed her bags and her tight features zipped out of the car, her eyes still imploring Ron to reconsider. Walter decided he would wait a few more days before trying to interfere. He was sure the two would figure it out eventually.

Hermione meanwhile was rushing past the stationary clank of iron and cheerily greeting the people she knew - and the people she didn’t too. For all that there had been the tension and sudden release in ripping together the friendship she had forged with her current allies, the magical cast of her influence had not yet deteriorated over the general populus. Hermione Granger remained the untouchable exotic beauty for them. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Ginny had envisaged Hermione as a queen. A noble, humble queen. Someone she could help guide in return for their presence - a contraction of wisdom and naivety which was something she had needed in her life for a while.

But it was certainly true to say that Hermione was a queen. One which could wield extreme power. She was still young but perhaps no longer quite so naive. Now, at least, she knew that she could have enemies. But the people who had ‘oo’ed at her on the first day for her commanding presence and frank honesty knew, just like she did, that she wouldn’t let them be enemies for very long. Love trumps hate. And love is everywhere. Anyone can be loved. She could love anyone.

Hermione met up with Ginny by the door of her form room. The people she hadn’t bothered ruthlessly befriending still saw her as an idol and those who hadn’t seen her laugh, seen her break down the barrier of untouchability, remained as distant as the subjects of a vast nation. Adoring her quietly. But that wasn’t love. Love was what she felt for Ginny who had been the first to swear her loyalty to her, and for Romilda who had reforged herself at her side, and for Hannah who was doing the same. Her friendship with Ginny was one of truth. The clash of two lions was her bond with Romilda. In the short space of their collision, the two girls had matured and gained humanity. Hermione had gained the wisdom brought through community and Romilda had forgotten the defences she had put in place to protect her from it. Neither had conquered the other but they were both richer for it. Hannah was another story.

“Morning, Granger.” Hermione smiled at Romilda and the tensing in the other girl’s face revealed her shared sentiments.

Hermione plopped down at her table as Ginny continued to chat away about what she theorised could possibly go wrong in the lessons they had ahead of them that day. The Patils commented that it was slightly morbid.  _ But with a pyromaniac brother, you always have to be on your toes,  _ Hermione supposed.

The boys had taken to congregating in the row in front of hers. The five girls now had protection sealing their laziness from the sights of whatever teacher tried to get their attention. Hannah was far from the only one who thought Hermione stood a better chance of controlling their class than any adult who plonked themselves across from them but Hermione, of course, didn’t spend enough time caring about an impossible career in teaching to notice.

Hermione knew a lot about love and yet she knew nothing at all. She had loved the people around her but coming here had shown her that that was not the kind of love people spoke of. Hermione thought they should speak of the love  _ she  _ knew. Somehow, it felt purer. But she hadn’t felt the other kind, or at least she didn’t think she had, so who was she to dictate how they should handle the only honest truth there was?

The bell rang. Hermione’s thoughts were cut short. And Seamus argued with Ginny that their timetabled hour in textiles neither guaranteed nor precluded a tragedy. Ginny only had to glance at his bandaged fingers in which he had buried and broken three sewing machine needles the previous week. Because determination to succeed  _ had  _ precluded him stopping at one.

 

X-X-X

 

“Draco gave us a call this morning. He says he’ll be going to see Hermione in a few hours.”

Tom smiled widely. “Ah, it’ll be good to see my little princess again.” He sighed with an overly dramatised wistfulness and Anthony couldn’t help but smile fondly at his antics.

“Shall I go and arrange a room for her here?”

“I’m still undecided so leave it be.”

“Is there anything else you need then, or should I start with my daily duties?”

“You make it sound arduous.”

“Cleaning up your mess generally is.” Anthony parried dryly.

“Hey!”

“I’ll be going then shall I?” Tom’s crinkled eyes spread to a grin.

“Off you go then, meanie.”

Anthony furrowed his eyebrows. It was rare for Tom to be in the mood for name-calling. Hermione was finally coming home though, so he supposed he could excuse the playfulness. He decided to stick his tongue out at the man he called his friend first and boss second whilst strutting out of the door and sneaking it shut with a cheeky slam.

After a few seconds the grin slid down Tom’s face as he lifted his palm to run it across his cheeks.

_ Christ. I swear the bastard knows and he does it to taunt me. Fucking Christ- but those bloody gorgeous hips! _

 

X-X-X

 

The first half of the day rolled around without major incident. Major incident being forced to define itself only as injuries deserving hospitalisation or the appearance of a spider. The rest had all been banalised. Hermione had half realised, half been informed, that the screams which never seemed to stop were the soundscape of every possible incident under the Sun. She was secretly very glad that her form room door was generally kept tightly shut.

Hermione was also thankful that Matty didn’t seem to be the kind to care about unimportant infringements whilst also making sure it was known that he wouldn’t stand for any which actually had harmful consequences. Hermione supposed that was how he’d earned so much respect from his students. It had certainly earned him hers. At first she had wondered why on Earth everyone acted like they didn’t respect him at all despite their claims otherwise. You had to respect your elders and  _ show  _ that you did. She’d spent ages trying to turn “Matty” over her tongue but her formality, which had mostly dissipated into a lilting local slang, remained prudent at the foot of the mountain of her respect for teachers. Something she alone seemed to care about.

But just an hour earlier, during her free, he led her out of the form room and sat her down and just  _ stared  _ at her with the most unexpected expression. He was pouting. The grown man was pouting! And on his expressive face it didn’t look out of place at all.

He complained, “Why are you so formal with meee, Miss Granger? Don’t you like me?” It was exaggerated and hilarious and Hermione couldn’t stop herself from laughing.

“Miss Granger?!” She repeated.

“See! You don’t like it when I do it to you, do you?”

“But you’re a teacher!” She reposted. “And one of the few good ones at that!” She ripped her hands over her mouth, eyes blowing wide in alarm as she realised she’d inadvertently admitted her discontent with various other members of staff.

He burst out laughing.

“Just call me Matty from now on, yeah? Well, unless the Head walks in,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Then you can enjoy joining in with the farcical parade we’ve all agreed to put on. It’s quite funny how slimey we sound when we actually try to show some respect. And I’m not just talking about the students.” He took a hearty sip of his coffee and it reminded Hermione that she’s promised Ginny they’d stop by the local newsagent’s on their way home. Ginny had scraped the final coffee powder from the bottom of her jar that morning and if Ginny’s grumpiness  _ with  _ coffee was enough to dissuade her from walking with the ginger anytime before 9 AM, she didn’t want to see her friend  _ without _ the steady supply of calming addiction.

“I’m glad you’ve settled in so well. I thought perhaps Romilda might be an obstacle but I’m actually pretty proud of how you handled her.”

“Handled? I wouldn’t say that. We clashed and decided we had more to gain by giving something up than by holding on to what we had and forsaking what we could have.”

Matty paused then took another sip. “That’s very mature of you.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about how impressed all the teachers here are by you. Some get jealous of course, given your background, but that’s to be expected. But I think that more than just being smart - you’re intelligent. And that’ll serve you well in the future, I’m sure.” Seeing as they were sharing a table in one of the rooms near the staffroom, Hermione thought it best to stick with formalities. Just in case the Head walked by and all.

“Mr Matthews,” he seemed to understand and, given the more serious turn the conversation had taken, he didn’t so much as react to her choice. “I’m worried about my future.”

Abrupt. He expected her to continue. She didn’t. He put his coffee down and asked, “What do you mean?”

Silence for a while before she admitted, “I feel as though things are going on outside of my control and the more aware I’ve been becoming in general, the more aware I’ve been becoming that I’m aware of nothing at all! It’s actually… quite distressing.”

“That, Hermione,” he solemnly nodded at the glimpse of sky in the window, “Is the natural process of growing up. You’re more of cause and effect. And when you are, you realise that the freedom you’ve been fighting for isn’t worth it, because when those looking after you let you go, you are utterly on your own. And then you have a scary realisation - you’re adults now. And your underclassmen who you left behind in the clutches of childhood suddenly want your advice. And then you realise that not only are you adults, but also that the adults are now  _ you  _ .” A deep breath. “It’s natural to feel stressed about it, especially when you zoom out and see even more of it.” Hermione’s bowed head and soft nod.

“I don’t mean to scare you with my words Hermione, and I don’t fully understand your situation - mainly because the Head seems to have everything hidden behind a hundred layers of security when it comes to your background. But I’m telling you this because I think you can handle it. Because you’ve grown so much, so quickly, and if anyone can adapt to even the most dramatic of turns, it’s you. And being who you are, I expect they’ll come your way sooner than they’ll come to everyone else.” An open and honest smile. One he shared with his student.

“Now off with you! Do something productive for the last half an hour of your free- oops, I mean “non-contact period”, of course. And for my sanity, if nothing else, make sure Seamus doesn’t need to go to the nurse’s office by the end of the day!”

They wrapped up their interactions and Hermione left  to meet up with her friends.

 

X-X-X

 

Seamus didn’t end up needing medical assistance. If only because he’d lost the shouting match with their teacher who, quite rightly, pointed out the Seamus’ bandaged fingers wouldn’t even fit into the small gaps of the sewing machine. This was fortunate as the nurse was still claiming she was “sick”. According to the Patils that word deserved quotation marks without question. She always seemed to be “sick”. Especially during the summer party season which often resulted in student pregnancy scares. “She probably has too many of her own to worry about us,” growled Romilda lightly.

Parvati revealed that she had been the victim of one such scare not long before Hermione arrived, to which the new girl reacted by almost dropping an iron on Romilda’s foot. Hermione had been aghast at the news and Romilda had been rather ferocious about almost losing her appendage. At fourteen, Hermione didn’t think she was ready to be in a relationship with anyone, never mind… intimacy. She loved but without consequences. Her heart went out further to Parvati when the Indian admitted that her former boyfriend had half forced himself on her when he was a little tipsy. The notion turned her stomach the same way Ginny’s confession had done. A brutal clench of sympathy and then the alien feeling of dawning comprehension she couldn’t quite reach. What did sex mean in the face of love? Didn’t Parvati’s point prove Hermione’s view - that the love people here spoke about was cheaper? How could someone who claimed to love another person enough to want to stake themselves by their side act to hurt them?

Hermione’s musings were broken by Padma who continued where her sister had broken off. She told Hermione about how she had been vividly frustrated when the nurse wasn’t there to help and the school wouldn’t even provide any suggestions as to how to contact another nurse. Padma blushed, half angry, half embarrassed, as she recreated parts of the awkward conversations she’d had with the biology teachers on her sister’s behalf. Hermione hated listening to the unnecessary struggles of her friends and was determined that when she had to leave, she would give her friends- no, everyone here, the gift of her family’s funding so that they all stood a better chance of succeeding and achieving their dreams in life. It was the least she could do. After all, they had all suffered in various ways and they had all taught her so much in the three short weeks she had been with them. She felt like a different person. She felt ready to step forth bravely. It felt amazing.

Conclusion reached, Hermione, lost for something to occupy her mind with, considered the Patils again. Padma may have made the impression of being the more rational of the two sisters, but she was no less brave. It was all very well knowing where to go for help, but having the guts to go and admit a mistake and humble yourself enough to take advice was one of the greatest forms of bravery Hermione knew. Another was abiding by her sister’s wish not to punish the man who had essentially raped her. Hermione wasn’t sure whether she would have confined herself to the wishes of the people she loved or followed through with a passionate revenge if she had not grown as much as she had in the recent days. Her father and Draco hardly needed her protection, but under the humming of sewing machines, Hermione realised that if Mustafa’s eyes had met hers in a plea of understanding, she would have listened to his wishes as well.

Hermione sighed softly. New realisations always brought a little more relief to her aching thoughts. The two Indians were lionesses in their own right, and they protected their pride and their integrity with as much vigour as the wild cats to which she compared them. It wasn’t just the startling attitudes of Ginny and Romilda that deserved the title Lionheart.

Parvati rejoined the narrative after a rare few minutes of sniffling. Romilda had protected both the twins from the brunt of brutality to be found in the school at the small price of their obedience, so it was natural, Hermione supposed, that the girls, despite their strength, were affected by the few events from which their dear friend could not shelter them from. Parvati, ever eager to return to positivity, shifted the tone of their conversation, invigorating the last few moments of the lesson by revealing that her other brother, Soma, had heard from Romilda about the events and, whilst he had also respected Parvati’s wishes not to ruin the boy’s life with a criminal record, he believed that there were a select few dozen bruises which had the boy’s name on them. When the offender turned up to school after a fortnight off he still looked like an over-ripe plum - swollen and purple at every angle. Padma cackled and repeated what she had said when she saw him that day: “Served him right, the bastard.”

Hermione felt her views shift again. She paused as she realised she had found a reason to have faith in the love people talked of here. She was in the presence of honest love at this very moment - between friends and between family. Curiosity invited her to ask though, “Didn’t Romilda telling your brother feel like she betrayed your trust?”

Parvati smiled with her sister and simply said, “No.”

“Soma admitted, after some poking from us, that the one bruise he  _ had  _ acquired was actually from Romilda before he’d gone and beaten the little shit up when she had had to remind him of his vow not to go through the law to exact his revenge,” continued Padma.

“It was brilliant when we heard - funny too - but more than that, it reminded us that we loved Romilda beyond the bounds of simple friendship. And even if she had betrayed us in some way, that wouldn’t have mattered either.” Finished Parvati. And Hermione could see in their dark eyes the green ones of her beloved prince staring back and reassuring her that he would have forgiven her too.

The duality was ripped from her and the once bitchy queen lolled around to face them and roughly pronounced, “I heard my name.”

The twins giggled and Romilda bent over, digging her chin into the top of Hermione’s curly head and pulling the two Indians into a crushing hug. Her continued interrogation was covered by the soundscape of painful laughter as all three girls appreciated the presence of the young Georgian who had been hurt so very badly but had stayed strong in her love and had protected her precious friends. Hermione from naivety, and the twins from far more.

“I think Mrs Cave is planning on telling us to pack up anytime now so I suggest you get a head start,” Romilda addressed her followers before turning to Hermione, “And you, Granger, can give me a hot iron for some target practice.” Her sweetly sadistic smile made it clear just  _ who  _ was going to be the target.

A dramatic gasp of horror followed by laughter from the once-depressed twins. Romilda smiled at Hermione when the sisters left to grab their stuff before swaggering off again. Hermione then began switching off the equipment around her and tidying up too. Her creation was… mediocre at best, but she reassured herself that the stitching she had done by hand the previous week had been rather pretty - even if the partially digested mechanical lines from this week were not.

She spied from across the room how Seamus was stuttering out an Irish rumble which Hannah asked him to repeat again - slowly. He did, but also in a quieter voice so that Hermione couldn’t hear the grand reveal of his meaning. Hannah’s rising blush hinted at what she had missed though, and as the neat hand stitching of Seamus’ work despite his injury was pressed in Hannah’s hands, she had no doubt of the awkward courtship between the two. It was sweet and she hoped they forged a bond as strong as those she had discovered her friends were capable of. She had also seen how Adrian kept looking at Ginny and she hoped the redhead would realise how he felt sooner rather than later. Both were fiercely loyal and together they were sure to be an unstoppable force. Hermione hoped she’d be around long enough to watch them grow together.

“I wasn’t kidding about that iron!” Hermione ducked as something went sailing past her head. The cocky smirk of the Georgian drew Hermione into a giggling fit as she turned to see Dean behind her, shocked into stillness as a huge pillow had embedded itself in his face. That was another romance waiting to happen. She knew little about Dean but she knew if he could prove himself worthy, then Romilda was a good enough judge of character to trust herself in matters of the heart.

“Ow,” the dark boy muttered out.

“Oh, no need to be such a pansy, Thomas,” the Georgian stuck her tongue out.

The banter continued a while as Hermione shuffled off to find Ginny. The ginger had been working on some technique or other and Hermione rather hoped it wasn’t dyes again. Her maids still hadn’t figured out a way to get the fluorescent blue out of the blouse she’d worn last week. At least Hermione had learnt the valuable lesson that overalls were essential, especially in the presence of her ragtag group of friendly scoundrels.

“Oh, hey ‘Mione.” The freckled girl was elbow deep in… something. “Gimme a min and I’ll be right with you.”

Hermione smiled and leant back against the radiator. Off. That was fine on a day like this, but given how changeable the weather had been, even over the short period she had been in England, Hermione wondered how the school could get away with being so cruel as to just having a cut off point for heating. She’d argue that the poor students were more vulnerable in the warmer months too because their expectations had been raised and they weren’t ready for the cold!

“Why does she still call me ‘Thomas’?” Said boy muttered. “She’s even started calling you two by your first names. I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?” Dean looked a little put out but the other two boys- or rather young men, were reassuring him sufficiently several tables away.

“She calls ‘Mione ‘Granger’, doesn’t she? I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s actually her way of showing how much she values you. Maybe she sees you as an equal rather than someone she can protect, and ain’t that a good thing?”

Hermione had noticed that the way people spoke conveyed their heart. Emotions, beliefs and determination could be spied in the melody of a person’s words. Their background, their culture, their upbringing could be detected in the accent which curbed their formation. And their acquaintances, their own decisions, and their fated path in life was undeniably imprinted upon the changes in their speech. Hermione’s own accent had shrunk to affecting only the odd words now, but she’d also noticed a change in the people around her. She had come to understand that such a change should have taken months if not years, so she was bemused at the rapid nature of everything around her, but  _ then again  _ , she thought,  _ my life has been on pause for so long that now I might just be fast-forwarding to the inevitable I tried to avoid. _

“‘Mione, you coming?”

Ginny’s voice was mostly clear of the region’s influence now and it seemed to Hermione that the ginger’s echo held an invisible secret, one she believed she ought to know.

But enough of that. A bubble had burst and Hermione no longer felt like the girl she had left lying on the sands of infinite time, but rather she was now a young woman crossing the threshold from childhood into a world where she must grasp hold of her fate and accept it all.

_ I’m ready. _

And she was.

 

X-X-X

 

_ Crap. Crap crap crap. How the fuck are we meant to do this? _

One bullet was all it would take to kill the King, and if the successor was popular enough there would be plenty of time to escape too. But poison? Why did it have to be poison? And why weren’t they trying to get a Royal Guard to do the deed? Surely it would be easier and more practical to hire someone who could be offed more easily and was already inside the Palace walls?

Frank paused, nearly toppling over from shock halfway through his next step.  _ Fuck! What if they want to off us specifically? Is the “kid“ someone important to the Royals too? Shit! Shit! This is a bloody death wish!  _ Frank knew that that wouldn't stop Sirius though.

_ Crap.  _ Frank had to hurry. There wasn’t much time left. He loved Sirius, but he had sworn a duty he intended to keep.

_ I must contact Alice. She has to know. _

 

X-X-X

 

The afternoon Sun was warm and it cheered Hermione on as she sped after Ginny. The ginger gave the teacher on duty a cheeky wave as she dashed out before the official end of the day and the tinkle of the bell followed her through the iron gates.

“Hold up, Gin!”

Ginny laughed and slowed down. “What, can’t you keep up? I thought you were Miss Tarzan.”

Hermione pulled a face. “I am not an ape-man!”

She was met by a good natured grumble from Ginny. “I  _ told  _ you, he’s not an ape-man, he just  _ lived  _ with moneys. Like you!”

“I didn’t live with monkeys, I lived with Mustafa.”

“You mean to tell me there weren’t any other animals on this mysterious island of yours?”

“Well there were parrots,” Hermione started to skip over the cracks in the pavement, as usual gluing her eyes to the ground as the two girls passed by the parked car with tinted windows. “And then we had tortoises, and I think dad imported some lemurs too to deal with some sort of pest which was harming the crops…”

“Hah! Lemurs are a type of money.” Ginny stuck her chin towards the sky as if she’d won.

Hermione pouted.  _ Don’t you see how much fun it is, Ron?  _ “Lemurs aren’t moneys.” Hermione assured with certainty.

“Oh yeah, then how come they look like monkeys then?”

“Because monkeys and lemurs are both primates. But they’re on different branches... am I making sense?”

Ginny ground the thought around her mind, searching for a response. It was unlikely that Hermione was wrong so the redhead simply settled with awe. “You still manage to amaze me with the things you know. Did you learn about animals because there were so many exotic ones around you or was it for some other reason?”

“Actually… I think it was because Minnie wanted me to learn how to cook them.”

Ginny instantly regretted her question, grimacing at the thought. To which Hermione added, “I agree - it’s hardly nice is it? I blame it as the reason why I’m so utterly rubbish at cooking now!” The girls laughed brightly as they turned a corner.  _ But that’s not true and you can’t deny it. You just liked Draco’s cooking too much, didn’t you? _

A car slid up the quieter road of the suburb, following slowly, discretely, before pulling to a halt. The slight screech of tyres was hidden under the giggling of the two young women.

“Hey, girls! Stop a moment would you?” The voice was not. Neither were the two burly bodies as the friends turned to look behind them. The bodies were clad in a gasoline stench and the grime of a garage embedded itself in their ripped clothing.

Ginny’s eyes peeled open in shock before grabbing Hermione’s hand and hissing, “Run.” The two turned and barrelled into another strongman - all the more menacing up close.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Sweetcheeks.” His heavy hand clamped around Ginny’s recently healed wrist. She winced.

“Let go of her!” His eyes zipped up to Hermione.

“Oh? You’re the one we want anyway. You gonna come with us nice and quiet now?”

“No! ‘Mione- Run while you can! They’re Lavender’s-” The oversized man clamped his spare hand over Ginny’s mouth and tightened his grip on her wrist. His relatively vacant expression tugged into a smirk at her wince, and then into an outright smile at her wriggling.

“But there’s always room for one more… I mean, I’m sure the lads’ll enjoy such a lively bitch-”

Slap.

“Let go of her. Do you understand me? I’ll come quietly if you let her go.”

Hermione hadn’t been trained to fight - though now she was beyond caring. But when the man’s head tilted back to look at her, his smile of malice had turned beyond savagery.  _ Oh Hell.  _ Was she ready for this?

“Why you little-!”

“DUCK!”

A shoed foot wedged itself in the throbbing throat of the towering threat, the sole crunching together the arteries, the laces whipping around to catch the man’s right eye. A painful shout of outrage ripped out of the too-tall body and the heroic assailant’s face followed his limb. A second foot spun from the other side to catch several pressure points. A jerk of movement. Ginny took the chance. She crumpled downwards, ripping herself from the deadly embrace, and buckled her mouth shut to hide her pain. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Her chin soared up to search for the face of their possible saviour, her heart pounding loudly around her mind. And then she froze.

_ What’s she doing?! There’s still another two men! _

“Ginny! Move!”

“Uh-uh, Princess...” And out came a knife. It’s cold glance flicked towards the girls as one of the men behind them dashed forwards. The warm summer Sun was heating the blade. It could have been red - red from the heat or red from the blood. The image scared Hermione.  _ But I have to move.  _ And she did. She pushed Ginny away from her. Away from harm’s reach. And over the crumpled body of their attacker.

“I told you I’d come quietly, didn’t I?” She spoke clearly, no accent now. Safety and survival were essential. “Let her go, I said.”

Hermione, fighting the tumorous petrification inside herself, walked toward the metal death. Brave. Bold. Stupid.

“Hermione!” Ginny’s voice overlaid with another’s.

The attacker was given pause. Their obvious leader down, their choices had narrowed.

“The ginger cow needs someone to teach her a lesson though.” His words didn’t trail off but they were less sure than before. Hermione took a step forward towards them, shoulders drawn back like a bow, chin pointing forward defiantly like an arrow. Her words - a command, unavoidable and piercing.

“I’ll go.”

The man in front of her hid the other. He had not heard her verbal attack, her voice seeming soft behind the human wall of another, nor had he seen the power of her stance. He ignored the warning and charged towards Ginny.

“Ron! Protect her!” And then Hermione was dragged off. She was stuffed into the chipped black of an outdated engine and swerved away from the scene.

The second assailant fell within a matter of moments to Ron’s strike but Ginny didn’t care. She was running on adrenaline. She couldn't get up. Panting, she met the face of her savior. She stared into the familiar eyes of a man garbed in the uniform of a school she knew he had never attended. His hair was longer, his jaw bulking out his immature face, his arms steady behind the power of a firearm. The flaming hair of a pyromaniac and the undeniable eyes of a man she had loved as a boy and was sure she would love as a man. The click of bullets in the shining machine as he rotated his wrist. A gun was to be fired not used to strike. He had always done things backwards. She hadn’t seen him in so long and he was so different. But she couldn’t deny when she saw his guilty eyes lock with hers, that she was seeing her beloved bastard of a brother.

 

X-X-X

 

_ Ah, Hell. What have I gotten myself into now? _

The drive over had been awkward and she could have screamed with frustration. The man behind the wheel had been quiet all of the time and Hermione felt lost. What was she meant to do? What would be expected of her? She knew she would be safe. There were too many people that loved her and that she loved in return for her to truly be in danger. But Draco had also told her not to be reckless, and that she also had a duty to protect herself. She couldn’t always rely on others.

She tried to catch a glimpse of the man’s face in the mirror. She had seen it clearly enough under the traitorous Sun, but the adrenaline had wiped it from her memory. She was worried - undeniably so - but she couldn’t chew her lip as she liked to do. It would show weakness. Nor did she believe that breaking the silence with a question and a jerk of her chin would be the wisest thing to do.

When they arrived, she got her answers. Lavender sat playing cards and laughing raucously with various other boys and men around an overturned crate. They were leering and Lavender was doing a good job of seeming to enjoy the attention.

“Yo, Lav-Lav. I brought your bitch.” Hermione didn’t like being insulted but there were more important things now. She stood straight and knew she needed control. She’s take it and she’d make it hers. She peered around at the man who had brought her in, her cold gaze dismissing him with all the mustered force she had in her. He caught her eyes and was cowed. He’d forgotten the woman he had seen before. He remembered now.

Lavender saw the backend of the silent exchange and ‘tch’ed lightly. She obviously didn’t like being challenged. She stood up and sauntered a little way over to Hermione.  _ What next? Does she plan to attack me? _

“You’re an arrogant little shit, aren’t you? Didn’t they teach you to respect your elders wherever the fuck it is you came from? Or were they just stupid inbred cavemen?” Hermione didn’t flinch. The accusation wasn’t true so it meant nothing to her. That was unexpected. Lavender gulped down a stutter at the unresponsiveness. “I bet they were! No wonder you can’t understand that we’re all far better than you and that you should be begging to kiss our feet!”

“Yeah!”

“You tell the bitch!”

“She can kiss and suck on something else too!”

The variations were infinite. The simple words mounted and congealed into a shout of uncoordinated dominance.

Hermione let it rise for a moment before she raised her voice and asserted, “What on Earth makes you say that.” Not a question. Hermione didn’t care for an answer. She pressed on with her words, her hands tucked behind her back as she took a proud step forward, puckering onto her heel slightly so that the stride even looked casual. She stoppered a repost from the older school girl and continued, “I would hardly care to respect a girl or a group so utterly debauched in their own little miseries that they have no desire to progress, only to wallow in their own self-pity and protect their collective pride by staking claim on the victims they crush below their intimidation.” She turned her chin sharply at the crowd by the crate and delivered to them, “The phrase you’re looking for to provide your figurehead with your rather pathetic support is “hear, hear”. I’ve been in this country all of three weeks and  _ I  _ know that. It goes to show how much you cared about your education if you can’t even remember a single word and instead prefer to employ the blandest of insults.” She was fierce on the outside and terrified on the inside.  _ Calm. Check. Collected. Check.  _ The checklist was very much falsified. She had tried to make herself impossible to disprove. Her words had carried a calm certainty of condemnation. The boys caved in and sank back down. They were admonished little puppies in the face of a lioness.

The men were another matter.

They were aged wolves with pride. A defense was one thing. But an insult from the prey they had brought in was another. They would tear her apart, not the other way around! They grabbed for hammers and smashed bottles and other tools of physical violence as they approached, their pack sneering in bloodlust.

Lavender was delighted at the turn of events. Of course she was. But even she felt the thrill of fear. How awful it must have been to be Hermione, if even she felt frightened despite siding with the winners.

Hermione wasn’t scared. She was terrified.  _ Don’t let it show! They can’t be allowed to see it! They’ll only get worse if you encourage them. You can’t look weak. You can’t back down. But don’t agitate them either. God protects those who protect themselves. Remember that.  _ And so Hermione stood still and stared them down. Their approach was even, their hunger stable. She didn’t freeze and she didn’t jump. She looked invincible. In the face of impossibility, wolves are logical creatures. But men, ironically, are not. They lunged!

“Halt!”

_ Not Ron. I don’t recognise the voice. Who is it? Are they even on my side? _

The gangsters froze and turned slowly. They placed the voice.  _ One of theirs then.  _ And retreated to their stations by the crate. Only Lavender crossed her arms. It was true that she didn’t like being challenged but seemingly this man had the right to do so.

“I come back here to find you’ve dragged some pretty face in and you plan to bash it up. Such a waste.” He approached and dragged out the action he preferred. “I think I’d far rather make it mine…”

Spluttering and then Lavender’s shriek of dissatisfaction from Hermione’s left. “But I’m yours and I want to give this bitch a lesson in pain-!”

He slapped her. Hard. Fast. Brutal across the face. She fell and didn’t even have the coherence to look shocked. She stayed on the cramped discomfort of the concrete floor.

_ I hope I don’t end up hitting my head against it. It’d be painful and I might black out. I have to do my best to avoid getting into a fight. I’m too weak and all I can- no, have to do is delay until Ron works out where I am. _

Hermione didn’t know about the trackers. It was probably a good thing because she might have been more scared if she’d realised that the red dots on which her safety depended had disappeared when the crashes of the scrap in the street had broken the tiny devices. Hermione’s single-mindedness was aware of other things though.

The man, the leader, approached to look her over.  _ To preen or not to preen, that is the question. I’m hardly sexy, and I’ll probably fail if I try to be. _

“She’s a looker alright. I don’t know why you’re suddenly listening to a bitch more than your own instincts. Are you my men or hers?” The men at the table looked suddenly ashamed, but when they glanced up at the alpha male they read the permission given and turned to Hermione. Lust for a fourteen year old was far more common than Hermione had thought. It meant that Ginny had been far from the only prey and Parvati far from the only victim. “Misogynist” had yet to filter into Hermione’s dictionary, so instead she just viewed the behaviour as a lack of respect for others. Men and women alike. And to her -  _ that was unacceptable. _

The man turned back around to inspect Hermione like a slab of meat, circling her, before coming to meet her eyes. He froze. This time he actually  _ looked  _ , and this time he actually  _ saw  _ . His hand, confident in its approach to gasp her chin, cemented itself in mid air and hovered awkwardly. He was painfully aroused and utterly terrified. Who was this girl? Her eyes burned with ferocity. But he could have dealt with that. He’d broken feisty girls before and he’d indulged in their screams of terror. What was different here? It wasn’t just determination. That was easy enough to destroy. It wasn’t cockiness or flirtation either. How could a girl so weak in the face of numerous enemies look so sure of herself? … And how was she able to persuade the hunter that he was the prey?

“Enough!” Voice raw but fury ripping the word out violently. Lavender stood and rallied the men who’d followed their instincts a little too much and changed loyalties to the bleached blond who could give them the warm body that an alpha male who hogged all the spoils could not. The movement of human insects charged matching fear in the minds of the two frozen in their untouching embrace. The disowned leader and the recently acquired prey. They were both targets. And yet they couldn’t move. They couldn't even turn away from one another. Fear had finally consumed Hermione and it had imprisoned the man locked in her gaze as well.

Afterwards, Hermione would learn a great many lessons about how to stay aware and not leave herself open. She had power and she could wield it. But she wasn’t a warrior. Not yet.

A murderous shout and then they lunged! Two stationary targets. Could it be more perfect? They couldn't miss!

And then the flock shrivelled and collapsed. The needles of incapacitation buried into the vulnerable necks of what had been a veritable force. The smokey curtain of the old warehouse drew open and light flooded the floor nearest the makeshift door. The man in front of Hermione collapsed too and as he did he revealed the weapons master who had been her saviour. The silver flashes of additional spears slid back into his sleeve and the numerous agents clad in black no doubt hidden in the shields of shadows reassured her of his identity. Before her was the hair she had wished would turn fully blond and the pale skin which had defined the man she loved beyond measure and the incredible presence which sibling-less Hermione had always called her brother. It looked like Draco had paid her a visit at last.

 

X-X-X

 

“You utter bastard! Why the Hell didn’t you tell me? Or keep in contact with any of us? Don’t you know how worried we’ve all been!?”

“Gin, I’m sorry, yeah? But we’ve got bigger problems right now-”

“I know that, damn it! Don’t you have some high-tech super-bot that can find her?!”

“We do when she doesn’t magically find the loopholes. It’s caused more trouble than it’s worth and it’s  _ not even working  _ now that we actually need it!”

Ginny stormed furiously across the pavement and Walter cleared his throat.

“Ron, we’ve just got a message through. They’ve already found her. You need to keep calm.”

“Oh thank God!” Ron ripped the door open and threw himself on the backseat. Ginny dashed and grabbed the handle, shutting up her brother’s complaints with the door’s slam behind her.

“Drive!” She ordered.

If Walter had had any doubts about Ginny - he had none now. She was as fierce as the corporate princess she had befriended and as determined to protect her as her brother was. He wouldn’t be surprised if they shared many other traits too. But he had to admit he was happy to know Ron had another reason for his recent stubbornness than his pride. His respect for the young man who was only just no longer a boy ricocheted up. Said young man began to instruct his sister on the safety procedures quite calmly with the warning of “If you insist on coming, you have to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”

Walter had long learned how to bend the laws of the road as he sped off in the direction he’d been advised to go in. It had been Draco’s men who had sent the intel through. Of course the Malfoy head would have been watching over the dear girl. It was almost painful to watch the misunderstood love between them. Ron’s pride might take a slight knock when he realised his efforts hadn’t come to anything this time, but if it wasn’t as big as Walter had first assumed, then the older man was sure the boy would bounce back as soon as Hermione did something deserving of a mild telling off.

The situation wasn’t as critical as the Walshes thought. Their tense and release in the back was harmonious and repelled the black leather beneath them as they fidgeted on the edges of their seats. Draco was sure to already be there - wherever that was. Or at least his men would be. But the experience of intense worry for a genuine reason would serve Ron well. Just like this fight was sure to mature Hermione even more than she already had over these past few weeks.

A blipping sounded to indicate they were close and Ron jerked into readiness before making sure to release his muscles. He could do nothing if he froze up, after all. Walter turned into the broken drive of an old warehouse and the blipping ceased. Walter cut the engine as Ron rushed out, securing the car and his sister before running on. He was making sure to be quiet and his skill was impressive. Especially given his age. The girl left in the back sat buzzing but obedient. She had been told to stay. She could only come out if everything was safe. Hope was written across her face - she hoped to God Hermione was okay, that her brother would be safe, and that she’d be able to get out and join the two of them. She was expectant. Walter was relaxed. And after three achingly long minutes she was forced to ask why.

“Hey- um. Shouldn’t you be, y’know, brandishing a gun or something?” It was whispered tensely into the quiet of the car and it reverberated forwards.

“Do I seem like the kind of old man to be jumping into the middle of a fight?”

“I don’t know. Are you?” He chuckled softly.

“No, no. I assure you, my talents lie firmly behind the wheel. You don’t need to worry either. The car’s bullet-proof and there’s always backup if we need it.”

“I’m not worried about myself! I’m worried about-”

“I know that, Miss Walsh. And that’s very admirable indeed. And I dare say it’s why you’re so compatible with the young miss - with Hermione, I mean.”

“Then why-?”

“ _ Because...  _ I wouldn’t have known where Hermione was unless someone had told me. Which means that Hermione is already in safe hands and we have nothing to worry about.”

“But Ron-!”

“Ron is an incredibly dedicated young man and I’m proud of him. I’m sure that he will have found Hermione to be safe and sound. I didn’t tell him because this was the first time he actually had the chance to put his incredibly hard work to the test. This is certain to form a good part of his training and give him valuable experience for the future.”

Ginny opened her mouth but found herself to be mostly speechless apart from some garbling of aborted sounds.

“Shall we go and catch up with them?”

She could only nod.

Walter slipped out of the car with all the grace of the former butler he was and opened the door for the girl, treating her every bit a young lady. She undoubtedly hadn’t lived a perfect life up until now but today was likely one of the most stressful and scary situations she’d been in. It was only right to treat her a little. His traditional elegance was hardly a trip to Paris, but it was the least he could do for a young woman who had shown such fierce loyalty to his charge.

Walter took the girl’s hand into his elbow to guide her on shaky steps to the hidden entrance of the warehouse. There was no need for the protective measures Ginny was worrying about. The dusty curtain covering the entrance had been ripped away and Ron stood leaning against the concrete post of the building, arms crossed, calming down and regaining his breath. He was put out, but Ginny could tell that he was relieved more than anything. She didn’t think she knew what to say to him. Reassure him? Praise him? Neither seemed appropriate, so she just let herself be guided to stand next to him.

The three heads - two ginger, one greying - blocked out the blinding rays of light to leave them all with the halos their protective instincts deserved. With the subtle glow of light washing into the space, Ginny could see several bodies lying unconscious along the floor, and in the middle of them all, she could see a knight in shining armour. Metal glinting at his sleeves. Or perhaps a prince. But this wasn’t a white prince. No... despite the blond hair and shaded pale skin, he was the epitome of darkness. Striking and strong. But an innocent prince in white he was not. And it was in his arms that the girl Ginny called her friend looked more at home than she had ever seen her. Their embrace was tight and the supple strength in their hold indicated that the grasp of Hermione’s relief had been holding on long before Ginny saw them.

_ No wonder she talks about love. _

Ron quietly heaved himself from his post and started to walk away. Walter looked at Ginny and a tilt of his head suggested they did the same. The three of them walked back to the car. And Walter decided it would be best to drive them home. To Hermione’s home that it.

A short while later, Ginny was left waiting on a red sofa next to a spotless glass coffee table, caramel coffee in hand having been poured by one of the maids, waiting for the most serious debrief she’d ever experienced when the princess and her prince arrived. Walter assured her that they wouldn’t have to wait too long.

 

X-X- X

 

“You’re a right idiot though, you know? How could you not notice that we look practically identical?”

“Well you don’t!”

“You can tell the difference between a money and a lemur but you can’t tell that two gingers with the same eyes and chins and freckles are related?”

“Alright! Alright… so what if I can’t? How was I to know that of all the places on Earth, I’d be in the one where two estranged siblings lived only a few streets apart?”

“I told you I had a pyromaniac for a brother. Was that not enough to describe him?”

“Normally he’s the one putting out the fires  _ I  _ start - not the other way around”

“The fact I called him a twat didn’t help either?”

“Hey!” Ron interrupted.

“Ron isn’t a twat. He’s just overly protective and slightly dorky about it.” The bodyguard spluttered.

It was then that the white door opened and Draco came through followed by Blaise. Ron who had been hovering took that as the cue to sit next to his sister, forcing her to shuffle over a little so he could directly face Hermione. Draco greeted the group in his usual tone. Professional yet indulgently charming. And then sat next to Hermione. Blaise stayed standing next to Draco. Ginny didn’t know much about him, except for the name he had given her when Draco had brought Hermione in a couple of hours before, but she guessed that he was some sort of secretary… or assistant…  _ or maybe he’s a bodyguard too! _

This world which had seemed untouchable, but which had begun to crumble with Hermione’s laugh, had now absorbed the young redhead and she felt a little lost. Hermione hadn’t really mentioned Draco too much, but as Ginny sat sipping her coffee nervously, she guessed that the two of them were close. Hermione certainly doled out hugs to the people she called friends but…  _ This is far more intimate that that. _

Hermione seemed to pounce sidewards to bury her head in the side of her saviour and save for a brief ‘oof’ Draco took it in his stride. He brought his arm around Hermione and gently petted her hair, smiling down at her with all the love in the world. Draco looked a little unbalanced. Not because of Hermione but because he somehow looked uncomfortable in his appearance. He patted at the blond locks on his head and ruffled then obscurely. Ginny had noticed that they weren’t fully blond and that the underside of the sheen was in fact a concentrated brown. Was there some backstory to be had there?

“Today’s been rather more exciting than just falling off trees, hasn’t it?” Draco seemed to drawl a little but the accent wasn’t American. In fact, he looked and behaved similarly to Hermione. Somewhat oriental but impossible to place. His colouring - pale but not sickly, his features - chiseled European. A formal way of speaking which belonged to high class society. The icy blue shirt and tight trousers hinted at a formal businessman but the corded strength in his limbs made her question that.

“I can hardly tell you to stop getting into these incidents though, can I?” He chuckled down at the curly head in his side. “It’s not like you’re going to change your habits are you, Miss Trouble?”

“Gm- you’re so mean, Draco.”

He looked down at her incredulously and repeated, “Mean? Why, and to think I saved you…”

A heavy hand slowly plonked on his chest as Hermione seemed to curl further into his side. To Ginny she looked every bit the petulant child she had never showed herself to be. Was this the effect he had on her? Or had she been more frightened by the events than she had let on?

A voice from above. Blaise’s. “Actually, Draco, do you want to…?”

Draco looked up at the man as loyal to his family as he himself was and nodded - a silent thank you for the reminder. Draco cleared his throat and straightened. Back to serious matters.

“Hermione. I actually came over today for a specific reason. Tom wants you to visit him. I think he intends for you to stay.”

Hermione paused and then pulled away from Draco, looking up at him. Half disbelieving, half hoping to know more. “Really? Does that mean I won’t be able to come back here again?”

“He never said that. In fact, I think he plans for you to visit this place quite often. When you said you wanted to see what it would be like to have a “normal life”, he was actually quite pleased. He chose this school because Ron had experience with it and the way he presented his decision suggested there was more to be gained here than met the eye. And it seems he was right. You’ve changed incredibly… He didn’t specify a time, but I would say that we should get going by tomorrow.”

Hermione pulled her lip between her teeth. “I-Is it something serious?”

“He didn’t seem ill,”  _ Although I doubt that man would show it,  _ he silently acknowledged. “So there’s no need to worry. Rather, I think he has something to tell you. Now that you’ve been let off the island, I’m sure far more incidents like today’s will happen to you and around you - you’re the only heir of the Prince conglomerate. Heir and beloved daughter of the most feared corporate emperor. He protected you with twelve years of isolation, so all the more reason for people to flock to you. If you’re not being threatened, then you’ll at least be a curiosity. And it’s entirely possible that will be no better.”

Hermione’s back was also straightened and Ginny watched the two debate with the concentration one might have when watching a tennis match. Her friend’s pose looked upper class too. Of course Ginny had known that she was rich, that Hermione’s attitude was enough to make her her precious queen, but… it all felt real now. Draco - Brother? Guardian? Lover? Hermione - Queen? Friend? Heir?

“But Dad wouldn’t bother telling me what to do. He’s always told me to act as I see fit and to learn from my mistakes. He brought me Mustafa and you and Ron to watch out for me. He has faith in all of you, so he wouldn’t want to tell me to be careful.” Hermione chewed on her lip in thought.

_ But Mustafa’s dead… _

_ … She needs to forget about him. She can’t rely on an imagined spirit to protect her from material harm. _

Draco followed Ginny’s thoughts to their wizened conclusion. But he didn’t voice them. Instead he smiled at Hermione and reasoned softly. “Well then, that just leaves your future. You had to leave the island at some point. You’re the most influential heir there is and you need time to learn how to wield your power before you’re allowed to fully grasp it.”

Hermione didn’t pout.  _ Freedom comes at a price and it looks like it’s time to pay it.  _ Hermione was anything but stupid.

The discussions about details continued and Ginny really did try her best to pay attention. After a few hours of what felt like the most boring conversation she’d ever had to sit through, the tone seemed to shift and her half-dozing self was jerked into action by her brother’s laugh beside her. Followed by Hermione’s.

“I can’t believe you didn’t recognise your own girlfriend though!”

“...I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“She means your ex, you doofus!” Ginny joined in.  _ This I can do. _

“She was lying on the floor after Draco dealt with everyone.”

“I wonder if I was too harsh on them… most of them were only children…” Draco’s interruption was ignored save Hermione’s reassuring squeeze of his hand. Blaise would have commented that everyone in the room was still only a child. Draco was the oldest at twenty, but the assistant’s part-Japanese heritage dictated that twenty was the boundary of adulthood and Draco had only just crossed it. He was officially in the realm of adulthood in which he had lived in every other way all his life. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. But he was only twenty after all. We’re all practically children.

“Well that was Lavender lying by the door. Right under your big fat nose. You  _ can’t  _ have missed her-”

“ _ What do you mean  _ \- ‘that was Lavender’!?” Ron looked personally offended. He probably was.

“Yeah, you know that sweet little girl you dated and then up and left? She’s been making my life Hell. Thanks for that by the way.”

“But-! But she’s-!” Ron couldn’t impose the gangster he’d seen onto the garden faery he’d dedicated his first boyhood love to. “But I ran into her when I was looking for Hermione! Even if I didn’t recognise her she should have at least recog-”

“You’ve changed too, you numpty. Your jaw’s half the size of your face but your cheeks still make you look like a baby. And then there’s that nose of yours blocking everything in sight. Just  _ how  _ many times did you break it?”

“Training was tough! Okay? I can’t help looking different…” Ron trailed off whilst Hermione just enjoyed watching the homeliness of family bickering which she had rarely got the chance to experience with her own family. She had other people though. She had others she called family. Ginny stopped pulling Ron’s leg but her voice was still a little louder than normal.

“I don’t know if she’s the same underneath but she’s changed a lot. Maybe you should talk to her. I’ve no idea if you can undo what’s been done but you have the best chance out of anyone.”

Ron looked proud of his sister. “What?” She asked.

“No, nothing. You’ve just matured a whole bunch since I last saw you.” He smiled and ruffled her hair.

She blushed slightly and looked away, linking eyes with Hermione before adding, “Just don’t start dating her again, whatever you do!” Ginny pouted out. “I don’t want to imagine the fallout that would happen if you left her a second time.” She shivered at the thought and Ron laughed.  _ There’s the sister I know and love!  _ “And for God’s sake, cut your hair!” She riled up again. “It’s driving me insane that yours is prettier than mine!”

“I’ll get the scissors!” Hermione supplied. To which everyone leaped up and hurried to assure her that:

“You really don’t need to!”

“There’s no need to exercise your ‘talents’, we’ll manage just fine.”

“I know we’re poor but I’d rather pay for a barber than risk my brother’s head with y-”

“Hey!” Hermione rebuked good-naturedly and grabbed the row of cushions behind her to fire at her insulting targets.  _ Looks like I managed to get my own bit of target practice in today. Thanks for the idea, Romilda. _

Hermione grinned, the Sun eventually set and arrangements were made for everyone to spend the night. There were plenty of empty rooms. Hermione fell asleep early, exhausted after everything, to the sound of Ron getting his ears blown off by what Hermione assumed must have been Mrs Walsh.  _ Good old Ginny for dobbing him in. I would have done the same with Draco.  _ She smiled and relaxed and dreams claimed her sweetly.

 

X-X-X

 

“So I’m sorry to say, but this is my last day in England. I want to thank you all for the good memories you’ve given me and the lessons I’ve learned with you by my side. I will never forget the three weeks I’ve spent here. I’m not sure if I feel it’s all gone too fast or if it feels like a lifetime. I’m sure I won’t be able to keep away and I’m sure I’ll come back.” Hermione bowed the same way she had done when she first greeted them that short while ago. She hadn’t dressed in her version of school uniform today, instead, she was wearing something comfortable enough for a long plane ride and something soft enough to neatly crease under her folded torso. From the front of the class, she grinned brightly at everyone. “Thank you. I’ll see you all soon.”

It seemed like a broken monologue in her head as she had practiced it, but the various interjections of disappointment, giggling and general happy melancholy filled the gaps when she delivered her speech.

Ginny had broken herself out of her morning ritual of moods and made sure to get to school early so that she could tell their mutual friends the news in person. Now the eight of them sat unsure of how to proceed. They were uneasy and were fidgeting and balancing precariously on the edges of their seats. Hermione had shut the door behind her as if that was the end but Matty was looking at the group of them with harmless pity. It was a good thing he was kind and just.

“Go on then, you lot, follow after her. I expect you back in here by the next bell though.” The indulgence was appreciated and their thanks was shown in their smiles and the whoosh of their rush as they hurried out through the door. Both Matty and his students knew that he wouldn’t care if they didn’t come back until much later. His philosophy was simple.  _ You couldn’t let improbably get away without a proper goodbye. That was just impossible. _

The roar of footsteps applauded the last minute dash of the good friends as they ran through the corridors towards the playing field behind their school. Ginny had told them that Hermione would be leaving for the airport by helicopter. Its dark sheen of grey loomed with finality as the group approached.

“Hey! ‘Mione! You didn’t think we’d let you get away that easily did you?” Ginny gushed forward through the door, ignoring the shouts of various teachers to slow down. Behind her was a rabble of seven others with the same message.

Hermione, who had been just about to slot into the metal transport turned. Draco gave her a smile and a nod and so she retreated to meet Ginny halfway and envelop her in an embrace. The crowd running up behind toppled onto the pair and they all fell over onto the dusty ground.

Ron’s slight huffing cry of worry emerged from the chopper but he didn’t have the energy to run out as he otherwise might have done. He’d spent the whole night with his parents and his brothers. The Creevys had been asleep but he’d managed to say “hello” and “goodbye” to them just before he left in the morning. Seemingly even those two heavy sleepers hadn’t been able to make it through the night unscathed with the loud discussions and arguments which had continued non-stop until morning waking even them up.

“Ginny said you’d be back. When?” Asked Hannah. She couldn't believe her favourite person was leaving.

“I don’t know. But I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Give us your number at least, Granger. We need to know how to get a hold of you and shout at you when you blow up your new kitchen.”

“Oi! She’s not that bad.” Ginny and Romilda bickered a little more as the group unpiled and spread out a little bit. Hermione just looked confused.

“Number? I’m fourteen.” Ginny and Romilda looked at one another, and then the rest of the group, and then everyone burst out laughing.

“How have we not noticed that one yet?”

“Everyone has their phones out... even during lessons. I figured she’d know.”

“And with all her money I just assumed she already had one that isn’t even on the market!”

“Guys, chill! We need to remember she’s just a little baby cinnamon roll who grew up on an island and don’t know nuthin’.”

Hermione’s expressions made the second bout of laughter even more hysterical and eventually the conversation concluded with everyone giving their numbers to Blaise to type into  _ his  _ phone instead.

“Promise you’ll ring us ASAP. You better get yourself a phone within the next week, Missy. And we won’t leave you alone!”

“Otherwise Ron and Blaise will try to murder you because we have to keep ringing them instead!”

“Hahaha! Alright, alright. It’s a promise.”

A smile on everyone’s faces, then nine youths hugged again and with a happy resignation they watched as the girl clambered into her wings and took off, waving to the little figures below her until they were no more than ants.

Hermione suddenly thought of something - an amusing goodbye gift - and asked to borrow Blaise’s phone. He told her which buttons to press to include the eight students in a text. He’d explained that that was the easiest way to do what she wanted to do. Blaise didn’t look at her message. He didn’t need to, but if Draco ever needed to in the future - it would be simple enough.

_ *** _

_ Thank you, everyone. I love you all so very much. I’ll be back. I promise. _

_ There’s just one thing I feel I need to tell you all. When I came here I had to change my name. So I’m sorry for the one tiny lie I told - if only because I don’t know if Romilda will survive the truth now that she can’t call me “Granger”. Be sure to let Dean give her the kiss of life if she faints. _

_ I’ll be seeing you all very soon. _

_ ~ Hermione G. Prince _

_ *** _

A smile of slight mirth and general happiness enveloped Hermione. She’d be back. Of that she was sure. They were all equal and all equally important in the grand scheme of things. They would all be judged the same way. Whatever lie in wait for her would lie in wait for them too. She was determined to bind them to her and thus was her will binding.

_ I’ll be back. This I swear by the Sun. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure every author will tell you, feedback is our life blood. So I would very much appreciate kudos and comments. :)


	5. The Marriage Game

###  “I don’t like it.”

“I can’t do anything about that.”

“You could dye it.”

“I’m  _ not  _ dying it.”

She pouted slightly. “Why not?”

“ _ Because.  _ ”

Ron tried to join the conversation by filling in with “It’s a matter of principle. Hermione.”

“How? I know it can’t be anything to do with stupid male pride because I’ve seen enough men walking around with rainbows in their hair.”

“You’ve seen  _ boys  _ walking around looking like loonatics.” Draco huffed.

“Teachers are men.”

“The teachers in that place are no better than boys. If they didn’t grow up and learn about what’s right and wrong then they can’t be called men.”

“That’s an awful thing to say, Draco. And Right and Wrong don’t depend on things as petty as that. Matty had blue and green buried in the underside of his head and I respected him most of all.”

“What I’m  _ trying  _ to explain to you,  _ my dear  _ , is that not everyone is equal-”

“Yes they are!”

“And everyone has their own circle of friends, their own allegiances, their own morals and their own roles. I’m not going to tell you that you’re better than other people so don’t start wielding your moral philosophy. But the undeniable truth is that some people are more equal than others and that people like you, like me, like your father, who have to be responsible for a million other people, can’t afford to stay children forever.”

Hermione looked chastised slightly whilst Draco looked relieved. He didn’t like getting irritated by Hermione. But sometimes she just wouldn’t take a hint…

“Don’t let him ‘ _ my dear  _ ’ you, Hermione. He’s just upset that he already tried dying it and it went redder than Ron’s.”

“Blaise! You traitor!” Hermione burst into laughter as Draco grabbed the paper files on the jet’s pull-down table to smack his assistant with. Said assistant took the chance to jog away to the pilot’s compartment and Ron cackled hysterically as he watched the man who so rarely lost his composure make a mild fool of himself, tripping over Hermione’s bag as he tried to catch up to the half-Italian.  _ Not 100% Iceman, then,  _ thought Ron.

Hermione’s thoughts were drifting too. _ I bet there’ll be hell to pay for that. Seems like it was a matter of pride after all… But it  _ is  _ good to know that I wasn’t the only one who felt it was all a bit wrong. I know he can’t help his natural looks but… the Draco I know- knew, seemed somehow different. His whole head would bleach under the Sun. Or at least the light would be bright enough to make it shine like was all blond. He’d look like as pale as Mustafa. His hair. His skin. It feels wrong! As though I’m dealing with Mr Malfoy and not Draco. I miss my Draco. Maybe when things calm down a little he’ll- _

Blaise scurried past again, a red handprint minting his cheek. He gave a wink to Hermione which told her it had all been worth it before he went further on towards the bar. _ Still painful then. He doesn’t drink unless it hurts really badly. Although, it’s Draco so I’m not surprised. He could take Mustafa head on and come away without a single scratch by the time he’d wormed into his teens. _

“It’s not fair,” huffed Ron. Hermione snapped out of her reverie and turned to look at him.  _ What isn’t fair? _

Draco had regained his calm air and was half strutting, half gliding through the air in front of him back to his seat.

“He’s only twenty but he acts so much older. I can’t compare.”

“Ah-ha. Are you feeling self-conscious about your baby face?”

“Well I’m sorry I have such a baby face!”

A pause. “It’s nothing to worry about… It’s just that Draco’s overly mature. And with everything he has to do, it’s not really surprising, is it?”

“He’s the head of the Malfoys isn’t he? Even at such a young age...” Ron coughed and added, “I just thought we might have found his weak spot but already he’s as impenetrable as ever.”

Hermione sighed out a laugh and looked out of the window.

“He was like that when I first met him too. Even though he was only nine, he appeared to be even more mature than the old maids on the island.” She looked back at Ron. “He came to bring me a present from Dad - baby Mustafa. But he saw nothing - his eyes were devoid of emotion. For some reason I felt so sad looking into those eyes... Why were they so pitiful?” Tears had started to form as Hermione’s head had tilted down. She blinked the away. “But I felt relieved when I managed to startle him. He’s been the de-facto head of the Malfoy Group since he was thirteen so if I was able to relieve his burden even a little and let him have a piece of the childhood he’s sacrificed for his family, then I’m relieved.”  _ But it feels like he’s sacrificing even more of himself now. I’m selfish, Draco. I don’t want Mr Malfoy if I can’t have the you I know. _

Ron looked a little ashamed which brought about an enquiry from the blond emperor when he arrived to hover over their space. Hermione knew he wouldn’t appreciate their discussions,  _ nor my worry,  _ so she came out with, “We’re just discussing how unfair nature can be seeing as Ron still can’t get rid of his baby face.”

Their cover was sealed with the bodyguard’s outraged, “ _ ‘Mione!  _ ”

 

X-X-X

 

“Hermione is scheduled to arrive at 6 PM. Should I instruct Draco to bring her here?”

Tom was glancing out of the window. It seemed to hold too many memories and history for him to simply erase it from his routine.

“No. It’s quite alright. Bring the car around. We’ll meet her at the mansion.”

Anthony gave a nod and walked away, slipping the door shut behind him. When Tom heard the snick of solitude he left his perch to walk over to the chest of draws. The dark wood caught the light in its polish and the silver frames gleamed brightly under the Sun.

“I know it hasn’t been six months. Sorry about that.” He hushed into empty air. “I’d say I’m sorry for breaking a promise. But I know that you knew it too - that it wouldn’t be possible. Peace never lasts. And for you it’ll probably be even rarer than for most. So instead know that I’m sorry for finally bringing you into our world.”

Tom reached for the frame closest to him. It hugged the gentle face of a four year old in its floral metal.

“I wonder how much more beautiful you’ve become, Hermione.” The silver eyes of forgiveness shone with innocence, their happy gaze capturing his. “May you bloom brilliantly. That way, the game which is about to begin will become far more interesting.” He placed the captured goodness down and turned back to the window. He didn’t approach it. He’d had today’s allowance of the past.

_ One day you’ll stand at the summit of the Prince Empire. Because you’re my daughter. The only daughter of Tom Marvolo Prince. And you’ll have to shoulder far more than anyone else. Even more than me. Because the fate I wasn’t able to handle now falls to you, my love. But you’re also the daughter of Andie. The only woman able to stand by my side. And so I know, I just know you’ll be able to make it. _

 

X-X-X

 

The doors were thrown open to the shout of “Dad!” They slammed into the papered walls and Ron cringed as he heard a loud rattle.

The bulking figure of the suited man turned, and with an honest and happy smile he cried out “Hermione!”

Father and daughter ran towards one another. Hermione jumped up into his arms and he spun her around once and then twice before plopping her down and holding onto her tightly. They hadn’t seen each other in such a long time. Only on the rare visits when Hermione had been allowed off the island. Hermione didn’t need to know that that only happened when various groups discovered her location and needed to be dealt with...

“My God, it’s been  _ too long  _ . I missed you so much.” The man breathed into her hair. It tickled his nose the same way Andie’s did and he felt another rush of love as he hugged his daughter tighter.

“That’s your own fault, stupid Dad.” The words were a little garbled as she pouted them into his suit.

“Haha, I guess you’re right.” He smiled down warmly at her and pulled away, holding onto her shoulders tightly as he inspected her. The recent photos he’d seen of her didn’t do her justice.  _ They have the same eyes… I didn’t think I could love her more. I hope I’ll still be around when she gets the same crow’s feet below her temple. They they really will look identical. _

“You really have turned into a fine woman, haven’t you? I’m so proud.”

“Why? It’s mum’s genes. If I’d ended up with yours there would have been nothing to be proud off-” Her words were cut off as she was dragged in for another embrace.

“Oh shush you. You don’t see your father in so long and all you have for him is insults about his face? I really  _ am  _ offended!” His sharp-toothed grin was playful but showed just how powerful he was. Hermione’s sweet determination pierced him in return and Ron was left with no doubt that the two were related. It was impossible for them not to have been.

“Oh!” And suddenly she slapped him.

_...Holy shit!  _ Was all the group of voyeurs could think.  _ Bloody hell, I think I’d rather get tortured by Draco than slapped by her,  _ thought Ron.

Tom’s demeanor didn’t shift at all though. Instead, he looked as though he expected both it and the explanation she was about to give.

“What was that for?” He pouted out.

“You promised me six months. I didn’t even get one.”

“Oh really? And here I was thinking that these past six months seemed to have flown by so quickly...Ow!” She stamped on his foot. Repeatedly. And then he quickly said, “Alright! Alright! I give!” And she stopped.

A collected huff of relief was exhaled from behind the family unit. Tom pulled his daughter back into a hug and faced the group, her face turning too. “Actually there’s something I want to speak to you about.” And he smiled back down at her. The others took it as their cue to leave.

“Draco.” The blond man paused, having already turned around. “Stay with us.” Surprise extended to cover his brow but Anthony and Draco’s other flight companions had already wandered off. There had been no witnesses to the minor slip which, to Draco, had felt like a landslide.  _ I need to keep control, damnit. _

Tom spoke to them both. “The cogs are turning faster than expected and events are taking place sooner than I thought. I’m afraid my plans need to be implemented far more quickly than I had hoped. I wanted to give you longer, but I just can’t.” He looked down at Hermione. “That’s why you’re here early, my dear.” He didn’t ask for forgiveness. Neither needed to hear the pointless affirmation.

Draco closed the door firmly behind him as he walked into the room. Tom tucked Hermione into the plush red sofa in front of the windowed wall and gestured for Draco to sit down next to her. Tom’s eyes tilted towards the glass imperceptibly. It wasn’t the same view as from the office, but the effect was the same. His past always followed him. So did his duty. His eyes then followed him down as he sat on the matching gilded chaise lounge facing the two. His fingers folded together as he leaned over his knees, drawing closer to his audience. This conversation would be intimate and private and exceedingly important. Draco could see every sign of it in the man’s body. Draco was close to being petrified.  _ What’s going on? _

The American emperor began. “Twelve years ago I sent you to Ropponguy. Of course, with how isolated it was, it was no different from a prison.”

“It’s because Mum was murdered, right? Mum tried to stop them when they tried to kidnap me.”

“Yes… but that’s not all.” She exhaled her surprise and sat up straighter. Tom followed her movement by inching forwards.

“The fate you are forced to carry is a heavy one.”

“Fate?” Her voice trembled a little but conveyed her engagement. Slightly louder and wanting clarity.

“It’s something I shall tell you more about when the man you’re going to marry is sitting in that chair there.” His chin directed her growing shock at the fat-bottomed seat, claw-footed and perpendicular to them. Hermione’s breath quickened and Draco froze.

“Marry!” She whooshed out her surprise and repeated, “Marry?”

She turned back to look at him. “But that’s so far in the future! I can’t wait that long to know.”

Tom moved his linked knuckles under his chin and smiled charmingly at her.

“In that case, shall we play a game, Hermione?” Her brow wrinkled and she crept forwards.

_ What does he mean? Hermione’s future shouldn’t rest on a game! _

“You will meet three men. They’re all men I’ve personally chosen and they all have the potential to be worthy of you.” His eyes sparked with frankness. “From those three, I want you to choose your lifelong partner.”

Her open mouth of surprise snapped shut. “You’re joking, aren’t you, Dad?” Tom could read in her face how worry and fear were melding together. He couldn’t have that.

“I’m quite serious, my dear.” He crossed his arms and straightened. “You choose. And at the same time, make him choose you.”

Draco couldn’t bear to look but he had to. He pushed his features to speech and repeated, “‘Make him choose’?”

“Yes.” Tom smiled. “I may have chosen them but they know nothing of it. They don’t know who you are, your face has been hidden long enough, but if you tell them your name they surely will. There isn’t anybody that matters in this game who doesn’t know the name ‘Hermione Prince’. You decide if you want to tell them.” He paused for effect. “But I won’t give you their names in return. I’ll merely set up the meetings.” He returned to his supple stretch forwards. “That makes it fair, doesn’t it?”

Hermione’s back was still rigid but she let her eyes glance down. Fear no longer glued them to his face.  _ Good. She’s calm.  _ Her fingers clasped together as she spoke. “But then in that case, I won’t know if they’re the men you chose.”

“You will.” He assured confidently. Even  _ her  _ mental strength of spirit was jerked by his verbal force. She tore her eyes back up to his. “They’re men I’ve picked out after twelve long years of searching. They possess the brilliance of jewels which would fascinate any person. Their presence will lead you to them.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and then smiled. She crossed her arms and met him in challenge. “But what if I don’t like any of your favourites?”

Tom ‘hmpf’ed merrily and said simply, shrugging, “Then the men and I will have lost. This will be a game, after all. I’m not the sort to do as others do. It’s up to you, whether you wish to play or not.”

A smirk drew across Hermione’s face then subsided into understanding. “You’re counting on me playing, aren’t you, Dad?” He tilted his head in praise for her. Draco could see that now they looked identical.  _ Fuck! Fuck. No no no no. I was meant to have more time-! _

“Then I accept.”

 

X-X-X

 

“Draco, you’re like a brother to Hermione.”

The stained glass fitted in the cupboard doors which separated him from the relief of Empire Burgundy was mocking him. The sweet oblivion tempted him more now than it ever had before.

Tom was once again looking out of the window into the nightscape which crowned the city. Draco stood further back. The heavy weight of duty in the form of the Prince’s desk sunk between them.

“Who will Hermione choose? Who will choose her? And is that man worthy of her?” Tom turned. “I want you to be by her side to answer those questions.”

Draco had recovered from his earlier glacial state but his shock hadn’t dissipated. He retracted still further inwards. It would be the only way to cope. To survive. Especially now.  _  Head straight. Look him in the eye. Don’t forget yourself or your position. _

“Of course... you will be adequately compensated,” Tom continued. The enigma rode along the man’s face. How could a smile carry so much meaning.  _ He knows the fates of millions of people and he surely knows mine far better than I do myself. What isn’t he telling me? ...Do I even want to know?  _ Draco would have gulped but instead he voiced what was expected of him as calmly as possible. “This will strengthen the bond between the Malfoy Clan and the Prince Conglomerate, won’t it?”

Acceptance. Betrayal. Finality.

“Ahh.” The lazy sound of agreement.

Draco forced himself to smirk. “Then how could I decline such an offer?”

Tom’s chin bowed the slightest bit and he pronounced, “You have my gratitude, Draco.”

Draco bowed and after a silent pause, he realised that finality had finished and that he’d sealed his own fate which the vast emperor had known about all along. He turned. And he left.

_ Anyone would have thought that was perfect. A stunning performance, Draco. But your eyes have never been honest unless they’ve been looking at her. And that door doesn’t slam, however quietly, unless you close it in anger or righteous self-hatred. _

 

X-X-X

 

Midnight on the clock. So many things to consider, to create, to control.

_ Draco, you have such self-control. It is to be praised. As is everything else you do. _

Tom sipped at his drink. Anthony wasn’t there anymore to threaten him with trivial punishments if he didn’t retreat to bed. Tom glanced at the file his friend had dropped on his desk only a few weeks before. It had been the first time he had seen it fully compiled and strained of all irrelevant details. Hermione was there, on the first page, preserved in happiness as a photo. But as he leafed to a double spread, he was challenged by the serious faces of four young men. She didn’t really have a choice. He already knew the outcome. This game was what he had constructed so that she could learn: to accept the fate she had and to find her freedom in it; to be able to handle anything she faced and to become anything she needed to be. He knew she could and would succeed. She had always thought the same way as him, after all. And there was no fresher proof than the past three weeks. The mutual desire for her to experience “normality” and her rapid ambition to embrace the chance to grow.

_ Draco. You are ambitious and brave and forgiving and wise. But your unchanging mask of stoicism won’t win anyone over. _

Tom tilted his head back against the rest of the chair and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t fall asleep but he could enjoy the peace. Hermione would be awake and wondering. And he could hear the slow footsteps of Draco’s acceptance above him. Tom knew the young man would bounce back. Love was the only honest thing in the world. Acceptance had never saved the Malfoy family so it was inevitable that Draco would realise that it wouldn’t save his love either.

Tom sighed from mental exhaustion.

_ It looks like things will go to plan. Perfect. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure every author will tell you, feedback is our life blood. So I would very much appreciate kudos and comments. :)


	6. Mustafa

Her bed had probably been even more comfortable than the one she had had in England. The overly large suburban house with an expansive underground bunker had housed all the luxuries Ginny could have ever dreamed of, but the American mansion presented its excess tenfold. The trouble was that that didn’t mean Hermione had had a good night’s sleep. In fact, for all her bravado by yesterday’s meeting’s end, she still felt unsure. _Marry? At fourteen?_ She realised she wouldn’t actually have to marry until later, but to have to start thinking about it… even that felt like too much. _Could I ever love a stranger?_

She was glad that her Dad had let Draco stay. Heavens, she felt she wouldn’t have been strong enough without him there. Solid and strong and always there for her. He’d stayed behind after she’d gone to bed, too. Final details. Both men had always been good at that. _And soon I’ll have to be too…_

Her dreams had disturbed her, the eyes of the young boy she’d met so long ago which had felt so distant until recently were haunting her. Would Draco really clam up again? Did this mean it really was time to grow up, to be adults, to move on? Hermione didn’t know, but the more she thought about it, the more depressed she became. _That just makes it sound like the end. How can that be? I can’t let that happen. This is only the start! I’ll just have to make him see that!_

Inspired, Hermione then hurried through her bedroom routine and tried to smarten up her bedding as best she could before scurrying out, hoping to leave her dreams in her duvet. Whether it was when them maids tutted softly at her valiant effort and re-made the bed or whether she hadn’t succeed in the first place, Hermione didn’t know. All she knew was that the past had escaped her bedroom and was becoming the shadow which engulfed her journey to the kitchen, to the car and to the hotel. Apparently Draco had some paperwork to do there relating to an acquisition.

 

X-X-X

 

**A dream sequence:**

 

Solemn. Strict and solemn and unfeeling and awful. How could anyone look so ghostly? His voice was soft in its formation but so distant. Not cold, it was calm. It was as though the words meant nothing and were fading into thin air. It was as though he was too.

“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. Let’s be friends.” So bland. The high pitch of youth made him sound like a divine being that had accepted the misery of being under God’s thumb.

The teal cloak of his Chinese mother wrapped around him firmly. Before the bones of his English aristocracy had cemented his face, he looked every bit the emphatic child of the Sun God - Ra. Untouchable. The sky blue rim which pinched the edges of his heavy velvet garb curved around his body the way it’s inspiration curved around the fiery mass above their heads. In his arms was the firm weight of a babe even younger than he. But the babe was a pure white cat that had the scent of youth and of fear. The boy didn’t have that.

I looked up at him for what must have been forever and I felt as though the ocean had invaded my eyes. I tried to see beyond my glassy reflection in his gaze, and when I could not penetrate it, I ran at him and ripped from him his hand. The white fur had shifted silently. Animals knew when to keep quiet as much as humans did.

“Look at me! Please! Actually look at me!” _My voice feels almost like another’s now. I can hear myself forming the same words beyond the grasp of sleep and in the world of reality. My words being taken into the warm breeze of the night. My voice may have changed but the words had not. Neither had my feelings. They would stay strong and I would repeat for eternity what I had to do in order to rescue him from himself. I love him like I love Dad. Distant but always there for me. I must repay them both with the fulfilment of my duty._

“I want you to look at me!”

His shocked eyes were the greatest relief I had felt in my life up until then. The bond we forged through many a year - the greatest achievement, and I shall treasure it. _Always._

 

X-X-X

 

“You’re worrying, Hermione.”

She didn’t mean to be. “I can’t help it.”

“No, but you _can_ stop it. Tom didn’t force you to play, did he? And if you choose someone else he’ll accept your decision.” The logic was sound. “I know that you’re smart, so you already realise what lays ahead of you. Perhaps some might assume that Tom wants you to marry so that you have a loyal partner by your side to support you, or perhaps they might be crueller and skip to the fact Tom would expect you to have an heir of your own. But you know as well as I do that he’s not like that. If nothing else, this is an exercise to help you grow up. Why else would he not tell you anything about these _supposedly_ perfect men? It’s your own adventure. That said, allies _are_ incredibly hard to come by in this world, Hermione, which is why, until you choose a husband, I will be by your side.”

Her confusion at his final pronouncement erased her bemusement as his emphasis on “supposedly”. Did he not think they would be good enough for her? He had always been stricter than her father so perhaps he had even higher standards.

To her odd look, Draco added, “That’s what Tom and I agreed.” Not terribly helpful. Hermione was smart, but at fourteen her mind was still too limited to understand the apparent logic. At twenty, Draco surely stood in better stead. She concentrated what she knew and reached her own conclusion. Of course, there were sure to be several reasons, but primarily: for her safety - protection provided by the man who had always been there for her - and for his high standards - to assess the men in person where her father could not.

If Draco was an emperor of ancient England and the rising force of China, then Tom was _the_ emperor of the current powerhouse of Earth. It was only logical that Draco had more time. He was incredible enough to balance his own work as the head of his family with being the favourite lapdog of the greatest plutocrat history had ever seen. So of course he was to be her guardian.

“But… I just can’t make heads or tales of what a husband should be. If you were by my side forever that would be fine, yet…”

The casual admittance melted and pierced Draco’s heart. Did anyone ever stand a chance against this incredible force of nature. Did _he_ stand a chance of being with her? Whilst she fell in love with three men and made them fall in love with her, he would have to watch over and act as her _guardian_ , and then, make her fall as deeply in love with him as he was with her.

The bump of the car over the pavement as it was forced to swerve out of the way of some offender gave Draco a reason to grasp her hand in his and say quietly, “It’s the same as when you loved Mustafa.” _There. Impartial, truthful, and only the slightest bit self-serving. Who else could stand by her side but the one who could parry the one she loved most of all?_

“Loved Mustafa?” She pulled her hand away from his and he fixed the splinter in his heart instantly. She meant nothing by it. Her palm went up to caress the cold of the window whilst the other went to grasp at the fabric covering her own heart. His twisted in pain the same way hers surely was. “Then I think it’s impossible. If what I have with Mustafa was the love I need, I don’t believe that I will be able to love like that again. We… understood each other just by gazing into each other’s eyes. During those boring days, it was enough to simply nestle together and sleep. Watching Mustafa’s measured strides was the thing I enjoyed doing most of all. The beauty of it would get caught in my throat, render me speechless, and in those moments I wished that time would just stop.” She exhaled softly. “When Mustafa died... if you hadn’t been with me, Draco, I would have surely died with him.”

Draco’s resolve hadn’t been allowed to waver even if he had thought it might. “The forms of love are diverse, Hermione. There will be people whom you will love more than Mustafa because the love you shared with him would surely have grown if he had lived on. I suspect than when you find that, you will have found your husband.”

“I can’t believe it.” She was firm. That didn’t help Draco.

“Half the human race is male, Hermione. One should see the world from a broader perspective.”

A few minutes passed and Draco let her be. She sighed several times with what seemed like acceptance or defeat. Draco had spent the previous night doing the same thing so of course he knew the sound well.

“But… to tell you the truth. I want to return to England.” Draco smiled over at the back of her head as her nose slid down the glass. Of course she wanted her freedom back, but her half-hearted announcement showed her maturity and that she realised she would never have it back again. The naivety of freedom.

“You’ll be able to go back. Just as Hermione Prince this time.” She smiled in comprehension and Draco could see the misty ghost of it in the glass’ reflection. After a while, her head tilted back against her seat and he heard the heavy breaths of her dreams. It was unsurprising. It would have been impossible for her to sleep the night before, after all. No matter how strong she was.

_You were always there, reproaching me for being diplomatic. And now I must teach you how to become the thing you hated most. I spent the last decade visiting you on that southern island. Visiting the girl with her leopard. Sometimes when ordered, but mostly whenever I was allowed. I watched you grow up thinking that you would forever be my sleeping beauty. Now I am ordered to watch over you as you choose another man. Tom, I will do my best... but this agreement is one I may well be forced to break._

 

X-X-X

 

The decor of the hotel was relatively elegant with a wide sweeping staircase separating Hermione from the upper floor to which Draco had slid away. She herself was enjoying the art on the walls despite its rather lax form. A shooting party. A pack of race dogs charging away from her. It reminded her of what she’d _thought_ she’d find in England. And what, instead, she _had_. She felt self-pity gather like the fine dust of tea which had escaped its strainer and was now floating around the rim on her cup. She wanted to go back. She knew she couldn’t. And when she did - it wouldn’t be the same. She only hoped that her friends would allow her to pretend it was.

She was planning to ask Blaise to get her a phone and teach her how to use it. His demeanor made him naturally more privy to the technological advancements being made every day than say, Draco, who would surely become increasingly irritated, thus terrifyingly cold, until the phone would freeze and shatter into a million pieces. Hermione’s imagination was rapidly forming the amusing sequence and her logic which tagged along behind supplied that, as amazing as it would be for Draco to be able to shatter it with his icy eyes, he would probably have done so with a simple overly-eager grip. Either way, he would be too constrained to partake in the common activity of choosing to throw it out of a window to attain such an effect.

Lunch was good. As tasty as the Prince name had always afforded her, but never as delicious as the home-made cooking Draco could provide her with. Ron sat facing her, having arrived an hour after her, muttering out his thoughts to the audience of his bacon.

“-but bloody hell it’s crazy to make a game out of whom your daughter will marry. If I didn’t know he was a good kind of insane, I’d be extremely worried. Mr Prince’s actions are really something else though…” He paused and then looked around conspiratorially. It was a charming habit of his. Then he continued in a whisper. “It really is impossible for someone normal like me to understand.”

Hermione was both amused and bemused so, with a tilt of her head, she inquired, “Why are you lowering your voice?”

“Well... if you, Hermione Prince - heir to the biggest business empire on Earth, marry, your inheritance will be passed onto you and your spouse, right? All sorts of intrigue could come your way. People will want to have and make theirs the exclusive thing that only you can offer them and stand by your side as the king of the world.” His frank truth was whisked away by the comic expression which accompanied his follow up of, “So as your bodyguard I must always be at the ready!” But Hermione remembered what he had said. And as she mulled it over, she thought about how it would mean that she would have to tread even more carefully if she concluded she didn’t like any of the three mystery men and decided to choose for herself her own. But even with the three less risky options, her father had warned her about revealing her name...

“...and to make it worse, you have no sense of self-preservation-” She mentally disagreed. “-and-” She was used to tuning out the repetitive droning of warnings from the ginger.

“You act like an old man, Ron. Despite having a baby face...”

“Well I’m sorry about that!”

“Then hurry and grow up.”

He huffed into his plate, “That’s precisely what I intend to do.” A pouting bite. “I’ll become a strong and clever man like Draco.”

She herself paused now and took a moment to sip her tea. _Draco sure is draging things out…_

 

X-X-X

 

“So these are all the documents I need to look over?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Blaise smiled at Draco. He was as much a workaholic as he had ever been, but at least now he seemed to be looking forward to putting work aside and doing something else. Blaise had been thinking that if Draco’s behaviours didn’t change soon they would soon drive him into the ground with exhaustion and ill health. If looking after Hermione was the reason for his changed attitude then Blaise could only be thankful. It was no secret from him - what the arrangement entailed. But he believed in the Prince patriarch and saw through his intentions in the was that blinding love would not allow Draco to. Tom Prince was undeniably trying to drive the couple together. He hoped that Draco’s determination wouldn’t wane as it had yet to do over the two short decades of his life. If Draco could secure the Malfoy Group, he could surely secure the Prince heir. And a marriage between the two would be perfect for the family.

A ‘bzzt’ from his pocket as his phone vibrated. He felt a slight tick emerge on his forehead. “Half Italian” didn’t help with his emotional veracity but at least “half Japanese” kept it in check. Blaise had allocated an identifiable setting to all the numbers which Hermione was currently abusing his phone to contact. The trouble was, though, that with the grand reveal of Tom’s plans Hermione had been fairly withdrawn - thinking. He couldn’t blame her. But he also couldn’t very well tell her fourteen year old school chums why she hadn’t sent them a message yet. Instead, Blaise had been left holding the baby. Several fourteen-year-old babies who communicated in a manner too brash to ever exist in the business world and from which he had been alienated for many years now. Only Hermione offered a similar experience, but her wizened philosophy softened the frankness which she shared with her newly made friends. Ron’s fiery sister, an utterly shy mouse, three predictably teenage boys, two stereotypical maturing beauties… and Romilda.

Draco gave Blaise’s crotch a funny look as his chin slid over to the buzzing sound. Blaise smoothed out his tick with pacifying thoughts and whisked his features into a smirk with which to tease his superior. Draco rolled his eyes and looked back down at the papers he held in his hand. The purple chair squeaked as he moved back to face the coffee table.

“Don’t you need to get that?”

“It’s just one of Hermione’s friends. We really will need to get her a phone.”

Draco nodded. “If we can wrap this up quickly we’ll head out and manage to spend some time shopping. I’m sure there’s plenty of other things Hermione would be interested in getting aside from a phone. Although knowing her, she’d probably decide to just spend thousands on souvenirs…” Draco’s muttering faded into the incomprehensible and Blaise laughed softly.

“At least Mr Prince chose well in regards to her school. Whilst the place had all the trappings of greed, Hermione seems to have come away with friends who don’t give a damn about that.”

Half occupied, Draco mused, “Is that the impression you got from your brief interaction with them?”

Blaise directed his gaze to the window and added. “...In part. But they’ve also been jabbering away with a frightening eagerness on this blasted phone of mine for the past 24 hours.”

Draco ‘hmm’ed distractedly. Blaise quieted. He then wandered further towards the wide panes of glass and his mind stretched out, searching, as he took in the expanse of American parkland. _Not as pretty as home._

“Oh. Mr Brutus Malfoy wishes for your immediate return to Singapore.” His lacking engagement with the pronouncement was mirrored by Draco’s attitude. The two young men were in tune with one another and Blaise had always been impressed by how quickly Draco was able to pick up on and interpret his thoughts, even when he had given away nothing at all. Draco was a genius and that was why he had every right to his position. Draco was a genius... in every matter but love.

“He did?” Draco drawled.

“Unsurprisingly. I’m sure it’ll be because he’s heard about what has been requested of you. News travels quickly, even when every secret keeper is loyal.”

“And I’m sure he’s up to his old tricks again.”

Blaise smirked. “Predictably. He’s telling all the other important family seats that they were too hasty in handing over carte blanche to you. That you are still young, your loyalties divided, and too easily subjugated by a man you must do your best to stand on equal ground with.”

“Despite being utterly below him.” Finished Draco. He sighed. Blaise did too. They were both heavy sounds but Blaise’s carried a note of pity. _If he sees himself that way, he’ll never be able to rise up and be her equal._

Draco misunderstood. He detected the floating nuance and commented simply, “How foolish.” It might have been aimed at his uncle’s actions or at his friend’s feelings. Perhaps it would have been better to say at both.

“I stepped up at leader because the family willed it. No one can defy the family’s will. Not even me.”

Blaise smirked behind Draco and challenged half playfully, half in a bid to multiply Draco’s confidence, “And you’re sure that no matter what he does he’ll be unable to change their minds?”

“Of course,” Draco grinned out.

Blaise smiled too. “My father often said that you were unique in your unbreaking tenacity. I’m inclined to agree.” Blaise stepped closer to his Head. “Don’t dissapoint me now…” and he tugged on Draco’s hair before leaving through the heavy doors to bring the young dragon some tea. Draco responded as expected, a little riled with a smirk on his face, but Blaise didn’t need to see in order to know. That was his version of Draco’s intuition. It was applicable to only that one man, but maybe in the future he would find his own Hermione and…

The phone is his pocket rang. Doing some mental calculations, he concluded that Hermione’s ragtag group should be in lessons and that there was only one girl who would care to buck the trend. When he put the phone to his ear, he was already expecting the echo of the girls’ toilets and the sound of Romilda’s voice.

 

X-X-X

 

Hermione was just finishing her meal when a waiter approached. His cravat was pinned in place by a ruby jewel and his smile was kind in the way his pearl teeth glinted. Extravagance. Ron felt a flare of jealousy but suppressed it. He was maturing far more rapidly than he would give himself credit for. And once again, Tom had been wise in the choice he had made. Mr Walsh would become a firm ally one day. “One day” was rapidly approaching…

“If I might make a suggestion,” the suited man began, “How about taking dessert in the garden? It’s a splendid day.” In another couple of years, Ron would be capable to detecting a worrying note of deception in such a preposition. Would it be a set up for assassination? Or perhaps it would just be something as benign as wanting to clear away the dishes without the guests in the way. Ron was still only seventeen though, and despite being with his charge for a year, he had tested out his skills all of once - and even that had been a failed flight.

“Is it sunlit?” The waiter nodded. “Brilliant, I’ll go!” Hermione hopped out of her chair, leaving Ron staggering to catch up with her. She had yet to learn the art of consideration - or, in the very least, survival.

“‘Mione!”

Draco caught the glance of Ron’s upturned blazer as he rushed after Hermione. The English aristocrat chuckled at the pair’s predictability and edged closer to the stairs. He hoped there wouldn’t be more work to do today - the contract he’d spent the past hours puzzling over had been an especially tricky one. But, of course, he knew full well that with her there was sure to always be something…

As Draco strolled down the stairs his head tilted in a manner reminiscent of his love. Why were the two of them just standing in the doorway? _Hermione looks too rigid to be enjoying the Sun. Instead she looks...shocked!_

Draco hurried down the remaining steps and swiftly neared the pair, spreading to fill the remaining space of the wide exit. He looked at her briskly and asked unsparingly, “Hermione, what’s wrong?”

Her eyes caught the light in the unique way they did when she summoned the oceans of her past. “...Hermione?” Her tears were shameless and fell in broad daylight.

Draco’s only clue was a single world: “Mustafa…”

Draco repeated it to himself and then followed her gaze into the open courtyard. There, on the cream paving, relaxed a silver framed chair on which a magician poised himself quite casually. A white magician. As handsome as a prince. As beautiful as impossibility. The ideal of a white prince who saved little girls from their woes with pristine edges to pen in their wobbly smiles. He flicked the pages of a monochrome magazine filled with photographs. Others might have cared about its detailed contents. The open white suit clung to him dazedly and burgundy frothed at his chest as the posture of the clearly wealthy man stretched the flaring shirt over his breastbone. The top button was undone and the wide collar of the wine flopped carelessly over the crisp edging of his snowy overcoat. His clavicles were as delicate as a woman’s, his thin lips as elegant as eloquence itself.

Hermione’s eyes took him in, twitching over the bloody jewels studded in his ears and to the black mirrors shielding his eyes from the Sun. Her silver eyes twitched with impatience. _I have to see!_ The man flicked the short tail of his long white hair from his shoulder to his back. He slipped his head to gaze at the congregation of three. Hermione’s breath caught.

_“They’re men I’ve picked out after twelve long years of searching. They possess the brilliance of jewels which would fascinate any person. Their presence will lead you to them.”_

The words echoed in the head of the two who had heard them.

The man reached up to pull the black lenses down the bridge of his aristocratic nose and there, for all the world to see, were the eyes of a beast who had long died and been buried. The cat eyes which had slanted up were reversed in the human face and tilted down. The look was lazy and still, unlike the animal’s living, beating self. The animal was dead. The man was alive. His long lashes flickered over the deep sweep of his lower eyelid as he gazed simply at the girl whose heart he unknowingly held.

Peridot eyes. His eyes danced with flecks of silver and green. They were gems in the light and caught the Sun with purpose. It was exactly as she had told Romilda. His fur was silver. His poise supple and strong. It was undeniable. He was undeniable. And so was her heart.

“Mustafa!” She burst from the doorway, hair flying backwards and flicking her tears from her face. Her mouth was open and caught the grace of his untouchable exhalations, carried by the air.

Draco grabbed her. His seal securing around her arm.

“Wait, Hermio-”

“Let go of me! Mustafa has returned!”

“What are you saying, ‘Mione?” challenged Ron from the other side.

She glared at Draco’s grasp. He had pulled her in towards him, forcing her still by pressing her down into the ground. Absence. The chilling note of emptiness turned her head. When she looked back at the silver chair - he had gone. Gone with his exhalations to the wind. Only the sunlit terrace remained.

“Mustafa…?”

 

X-X-X

 

**A dream sequence:**

 

It came back to her. The time. Her confusion, her isolation, her recklessness. His betrayal. Her tragedy.

The musky light of distorted memories and that day’s morning mist surrounded her. She walked forward slowly. The trees were dressed in shadows of mourning and the warmth of birdsong had evaporated. The heavy leaves of respite hung limply along the banks of her path.

“Mustafa?” Quiet was her voice. He had always been able to hear her.

Then, again - “Mustafa?” Louder this time. The quietness around her had become silence and she found herself forced to make noise. She was the one disrupting an eternity of peace. Her footsteps tapped gently into a rumbling echo that shook the foundations of her sanity. Then she heard it. The quiet sounds of glinting metal and the solemn sound of death. She ran.

“Mustafa! Where are you?”

She reached them. The clearing and the murdered. The body of her beautiful beast lay resting in his favourite shield of green, his eyes closed - never to be seen again. Nature had taken him from her and the island people were on it’s side - shovels in hand, grave by their feet. She ran up to him and sunk into the ground, knees aching as much as her throat which ripped out sobs and howls and screeches to challenge the gates to the Underworld. _Open! I demand you let me in!_ Those were the thoughts heard in her wordless wailing and which were transcribed as pleas for the love she had loved most to stay. _To stay._

The simple linens of the maids couldn’t hide their guilt. They had tried to keep it from her. Only Minnie could know that she was ready and would have suffered more by being lied to. She was only one though. And one alone could do nowt. Hermione would eventually learn the horrible power of democracy.

The cat doubled in Hermione’s gaze but the pink flowers of heaven remained as one. They circled his head but were dislodged by her holy envelopment of her lover’s form. He was hers. God could not- _would_ not have him! She pleaded for his tail to slap at her wrist and for his eyes to gaze into hers. Instead, she was being picked away from him. Parted. Draco had been visiting. She had forgotten. He was pulling her away. It was not a tail which was heavy around each shoulder, and not a loving gaze, but his hands. Those which delivered and enforced the brutal truth she wanted to deny.

“Hermione. Mustafa is gone.”

“No! I can’t accept this!”

“Hermione…”

“No! No! No!” She thrashed and he tried to pull her further in. His hands moved to embrace her and to pet her hair.

The maids had their heads tilted downwards but Minnie had her duty to speak. She carried God’s words to the young girl. She could hardly avoid this one final, awful truth.

“You musn’t grieve so much, Hermione.”

Amongst her cries and stuttered heaping tears she got out, “Minnie?”

“Your grief is heavy, Hermione. Do not tie it to his soul. Or else he won’t be able to enter into the Land of the Gods.”

Hermione wailed more. This wasn’t fair! It couldn’t be! “Then let him stay here forever with me! I don’t care it he’s only a phantom or a ghost! I want him to stay with me!”

“You mustn’t say that. Don’t curse him with that, Hermione. He will be tied by your melancholy and enter the body of another living being - and until you find them, neither spirit will rest in peace. It’s a most frightening thought.”

“No, it’s not!”

Then darkness and Hermione awoke.

 

X-X-X

 

“I wonder if Hermione actually believes that her leopard's soul is inside that man.” Ron didn’t fully understand the relationship his charge had had with her precious love. But how could anyone? Only Draco, who had been by her side as long as the beast, stood even the remotest of chances. And even then, his fierce competition for love struggled to let him see the truth in clarity.

Ron had taken the chance to cut his hair whilst Hermione had sulked with Draco all afternoon. Now the evening light was casting shadows over the revealed cording in his neck. The sombre charcoal velvet of the armchair supported his arms as he leaned forwards, mulling aloud his conclusions about the day. Draco sat facing him, papers spread out over the table between them.

“What’s that?” The ginger felt compelled to ask, guesting at one of the documents his senior was holding. It held neither the mark of Prince nor Malfoy. An untraceable document then. Background research? On that man?

“An investigation report.” Ron had been right and swiftly battered down his flaring ego as the paper slid along the polished surface in front of him to reveal its contents. The pale face of apathy stared up at him. The cold clay mask of perfection didn’t show its cracks. Would the text?

“Alexandre L. Le Noir?” Ron read out loud. “‘Le Noir’? As in the ‘Le Noir Group’? Bloody hell.”

Draco sighed out in agreement with the redhead’s thoughts. “Yes, the third son of Baron Le Noir. Rumor has it that he’s to become the next chairman.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron repeated, quieter now. “ _And_ he’s a noble.”

Draco rose to disguise his face by looking out the window. “He certainly meets the criteria,” he ground out. _An aristocrat. Is being a plutocrat not good enough, Tom? Is ancestral history what counts in this? Rather than the shared history I have with her?_

Draco was biased, but even so, something still felt wrong. He admitted to his suspicions. “Something just doesn’t feel right… Those cold eyes without a sliver of emotion. Eternally expressionless, just like a Noh mask. Horrifying yet beautiful.” Had Tom really chosen _him_?

Ron had felt similarly when confronting that man, but he had yet to grasp the same depth of understanding hidden in his role model, so instead he commented, “Hermione is completely absorbed in him, isn’t she? If he’s one of the candidates… then I guess she’s just another caged bird of the Prince family. The end is already in sight and her moves have already been predicted and secured and countered. It’s checkmate.” Ron hoped he sounded mature.

Draco smiled at the boy’s attempt but corrected him gently, “You don’t know Hermione well enough yet, Ron. No matter where she goes, she’ll stand on her own two feet. I don’t know the ending nor when it will be in sight but I doubt Hermione will chose what we might expect her to, and because of that, there is always hope for the unexpected.” _And a chance. A chance for me to succeed. Although... I suppose Ron is right to some extent - I’m sure Tom already knows our cards and how we will play them. It’s just that he intends to end the game in a stalemate because he loves Hermione too much to let either of them win._

A knock on the door. “P-Pardon the intrusion, Mr Malfoy. But Miss Prince is gone! She escaped through the window somehow.”

“I thought she was sleeping!” Panicked Ron. Draco simply moved into the centre of the room. _Keep calm._

“There are dogs in the garden, aren’t there?” Questioned Ron.

“Uh- You see, they’ve taken quite a liking to her…”

Draco butted in with, “At least we know where she went. She’s undoubtedly at Noir’s apartment.”

Ron spun around to face him. “You _told_ her his address?” His voice was accusatory but Draco didn’t hold it against him.

“It wasn’t something I could have kept hidden from her. But I told her not to go and see him until we had finished our investigation.”

Ron gave a three-toned sigh and said, “Then that means she’s chosen that man over your orders.” Ron’s hand slid and folded into his hair whilst his other palm fidgeted over his face. “She really is infatuated with that Mustafa man.” _Shit,_ thought Draco. _He’s right. Shit..._

Heavy footsteps. Too quick to be anything but an adult’s running. Panic. Blaise’s panting head appeared in the door next to the valet.

“Draco. We’ve just discovered something major from our research into le Noir.” He ripped out the paper evidence. “We’ve already verified the death certificates. So far he’s forced three women into committing suicide. It may be a case of ‘and counting’.”

Widening eyes and panic infecting even Draco. _Oh fuck!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure every author will tell you, feedback is our life blood. So I would very much appreciate kudos and comments. :)


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